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THE    NEW   WORLD    EDITION 

OF  THE  WORKS  OF 

RUDYARD    KIPLING 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

BY 
RUDYARD    KIPLING 


THIS    AUTHORIZED    EDITION    IS 

PUBLISHED    EXCLUSIVELY 

FOR 

FUNK    &    WAGNALLS    COMPANY 


DOUBLEDAY,    PAGE   &   COMPANY 

GARDEN    CITY,  NEW  YORK  AND   TORONTO 


THE  DAY  S  WORK 

COPYRIGHT,   1894,   1895,   1896,   1S97,   1898,   1905 

BY   RUDYARD   KIPLING 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

COPYRIGHT,   l8i^ 

BY  D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Bridge-Builders 3 

A  Walking  Delegate 

45 

The  Ship  That  Found  Herself 

72 

The  Tomb  of  His  Ancestors 

.      94 

The  Devil  and  the  Deep  Sea 

136 

William  the  Conqueror 

166 

•007 

209 

The  Maltese  Cat 

231 

'Bread  Upon  the  Waters' 

256 

An  Error  in  the  Fourth  Dimension 

.     289 

My  Sunday  at  Home    . 

310 

The  Brushwood  Boy      .... 

. 

327 

THE  DAY'S  WORK 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

(1893) 

THE  least  that  Findlayson,  of  the  Public  Works 
Department,  expected  was  a  C.  I.  E.;  he  dreamed 
of  a  C.  S.  I.:  indeed  his  friends  told  him  that  he 
deserved  more.  For  three  years  he  had  endured  heat 
and  cold,  disappointment,  discomfort,  danger,  and  dis- 
ease, with  responsibility  almost  too  heavy  for  one  pair  of 
shoulders;  and  day  by  day,  through  that  time,  the  great 
Kashi  Bridge  over  the  Ganges  had  grown  under  his 
charge.  Now,  in  less  than  three  months,  if  all  went  well. 
His  Excellency  the  Viceroy  would  open  the  bridge  in 
state,  an  archbishop  would  bless  it,  the  first  train-load 
of  soldiers  would  come  over  it,  and  there  would  be 
speeches. 

Findlayson,  C.  E.,  sat  in  his  trolley  on  a  construction- 
line  that  ran  along  one  of  the  main  revetments — the 
huge  stone-faced  banks  that  flared  away  north  and  south 
for  three  miles  on  either  side  of  the  river — and  permitted 
himself  to  think  of  the  end.  With  its  approaches,  his 
work  was  one  mile  and  three-quarters  in  length;  a  lattice- 
girder  bridge,  trussed  with  the  Findlayson  truss,  stand- 
ing on  seven-and-twenty  brick  piers.  Each  one  of 
those  piers  was  twenty-four  feet  in  diameter,  capped 
with  red  Agra  stone  and  sunk  eighty  feet  below  the 
shifting  sand  of  the  Ganges'  bed.    Above  them  ran  the 

3 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

railway-line  fifteen  feet  broad;  above  that,  again,  a  cart- 
road  of  eighteen  feet,  flanked  with  footpaths.  At  either 
end  rose  towers  of  red  brick,  loopholed  for  musketry  and 
pierced  for  big  guns,  and  the  ramp  of  the  road  was  being 
pushed  forward  to  their  haunches.  The  raw  earth-ends 
were  crawling  and  alive  with  hundreds  upon  hundreds 
of  tiny  asses  climbing  out  of  the  yawning  borrow-pit 
below  with  sackfuls  of  stuff;  and  the  hot  afternoon  air 
was  filled  with  the  noise  of  hooves,  the  rattle  of  the 
drivers'  sticks,  and  the  swish  and  roll-down  of  the  dirt. 
The  river  was  very  low,  and  on  the  dazzling  white  sand 
between  the  three  centre  piers  stood  squat  cribs  of  rail- 
way-sleepers, filled  within  and  daubed  without  with 
mud,  to  support  the  last  of  the  girders  as  those  were 
riveted  up.  In  the  little  deep  water  left  by  the  drought, 
an  overhead-crane  travelled  to  and  fro  along  its  spile- 
pier,  jerking  sections  of  iron  into  place,  snorting  and 
backing  and  grunting  as  an  elephant  grunts  in  the 
timber-yard.  Riveters  by  the  hundred  swarmed  about 
the  lattice  side-work  and  the  iron  roof  of  the  railway- 
line,  hung  from  invisible  staging  under  the  bellies  of  the 
girders,  clustered  round  the  throats  of  the  piers,  and  rode 
on  the  overhang  of  the  footpath-stanchions;  their  fire- 
pots  and  the  spurts  of  flame  that  answered  each  hammer- 
stroke  showing  no  more  than  pale  yellow  in  the  sun's 
glare.  East  and  west  and  north  and  south  the  con- 
struction-trains rattled  and  shrieked  up  and  down  the 
embankments,  the  piled  trucks  of  brown  and  white 
stone  banging  behind  them  till  the  sideboards  were  un- 
pinned, and  with  a  roar  and  a  grumble  a  few  thousand 
tons  more  material  w^ere  thrown  out  to  hold  the  river  in 
place. 

Findlayson,  C.  E.,  turned  on  his  trolley  and  looked 

4 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

over  the  face  of  the  country  that  he  had  changed  for 
seven  miles  around.  Looked  back  on  the  humming 
village  of  five  thousand  workmen;  up-stream  and  down, 
along  the  vista  of  spurs  and  sand;  across  the  river  to  the 
far  piers,  lessening  in  the  haze;  overhead  to  the  guard- 
towers — and  only  he  knew  how  strong  those  were — and 
with  a  sigh  of  contentment  saw  that  his  work  was  good. 
There  stood  his  bridge  before  him  in  the  sunlight,  lack- 
ing only  a  few  weeks'  work  on  the  girders  of  the  three 
middle  piers— ^his  bridge,  raw  and  ugly  as  original  sin, 
but  pukka — permanent — to  endure  when  all  memory  of 
the  builder,  yea,  even  of  the  splendid  Findlayson  truss, 
had  perished.     Practically,  the  thing  was  done. 

Hitchcock,  his  assistant,  cantered  along  the  line  on 
a  little  switch-tailed  Kabuli  pony,  who,  through  long 
practice,  could  have  trotted  securely  over  a  trestle,  and 
nodded  to  his  chief. 

'AH  but,' said  he,  with  a  smile. 

'I've  been  thinking  about  it,'  the  senior  answered. 
*Not  half  a  bad  job  for  two  men,  is  it? ' 

'One — and  a  half.  'Gad,  what  a  Cooper's  Hill  cub  I 
was  when  I  came  on  the  works!'  Hitchcock  felt  very 
old  in  the  crowded  experiences  of  the  past  three  years, 
that  had  taught  him  power  and  responsibility. 

'You  were  rather  a  colt,'  said  Findlayson.  '  I  wonder 
how  you'll  like  going  back  to  office  work  when  this  job's 
over.' 

'I  shall  hate  it!'  said  the  young  man,  and  as  he  went 
on  his  eye  followed  Findlayson's,  and  he  muttered,  '  Isn't 
it  damned  good? ' 

'I  think  we'll  go  up  the  service  together,'  Findlayson 
said  to  himself.  'You're  too  good  a  youngster  to  waste 
on  another  man.     Cub  thou  wast;  assistant  thou  art. 

5 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

Personal  assistant,  and  at  Simla,  thou  shalt  be,  if  any 
credit  comes  to  me  out  of  the  business!' 

Indeed,  the  burden  of  the  work  had  fallen  altogether 
on  Findlayson  and  his  assistant,  the  young  man  whom 
he  had  chosen  because  of  his  rawness  to  break  to  his  own 
needs.  There  were  labour-contractors  by  the  half-hun- 
dred— fitters  and  riveters,  European,  borrowed  from 
railway  work-shops,  with  perhaps  twenty  white  and 
half-caste  subordinates  to  direct,  under  direction,  the 
bevies  of  workmen — but  none  knew  better  than  these 
two,  who  trusted  each  other,  how  the  underlings  were 
not  to  be  trusted.  They  had  been  tried  many  times  in 
sudden  crises — by  slipping  of  booms,  by  breaking  of 
tackle,  failure  of  cranes,  and  the  wrath  of  the  river — 
but  no  stress  had  brought  to  light  any  man  among  them 
whom  Findlayson  and  Hitchcock  would  have  honoured 
by  working  as  remorselessly  as  they  worked  themselves. 
Findlayson  thought  it  over  from  the  beginning:  the 
months  of  office  work  destroyed  at  a  blow  when  the 
Government  of  India,  at  the  last  moment,  added  two 
feet  to  the  width  of  the  bridge,  under  the  impression 
that  bridges  were  cut  out  of  paper,  and  so  brought  to 
ruin  at  least  half  an  acre  of  calculations — and  Hitchcock, 
new  to  disappointment,  buried  his  head  in  his  arms  and 
wept;  the  heart-breaking  delays  over  the  filling  of  the 
contracts  in  England ;  the  futile  correspondences  hinting 
at  great  wealth  of  commission  if  one,  only  one,  rather 
doubtful  consignment  were  passed;  the  war  that  fol- 
lowed the  refusal;  the  careful,  polite  obstruction  at  the 
other  end  that  followed  the  war,  till  young  Hitchcock, 
putting  one  month's  leave  to  another  month,  and  borrow- 
ing ten  days  from  Findlayson,  spent  his  poor  little  savings 
of  a  year  in  a  wild  dash  to  London,  and  there,  as  his  own 

6 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

tongue  asserted  and  the  later  consignments  proved,  put 
the  Fear  of  God  into  a  man  so  great  that  he  feared  only 
Parhament,  and  said  so  till  Hitchcock  wrought  with  him 
across  his  own  dinner-table,  and — he  feared  the  Kashi 
Bridge  and  all  who  spoke  in  its  name.  Then  there  was 
the  cholera  that  came  in  the  night  to  the  village  by  the 
bridge-works;  and  after  the  cholera  smote  the  smallpox. 
The  fever  they  had  always  with  them.  Hitchcock  had 
been  appointed  a  magistrate  of  the  third  class  with 
whipping  powers,  for  the  better  government  of  the  com- 
munity, and  Findlayson  watched  him  wield  his  powers 
temperately,  learning  what  to  overlook  and  what  to 
look  after.  It  was  a  long,  long  reverie,  and  it  covered 
storm,  sudden  freshets,  death  in  every  manner  and 
shape,  violent  and  awful  rage  against  red  tape  half 
frenzying  a  mind  that  knows  it  should  be  busy  on  other 
things;  drought,  sanitation,  finance;  birth,  wedding, 
burial,  and  riot  in  the  village  of  twenty  warring  castes; 
argument,  expostulation,  persuasion,  and  the  blank  de- 
spair that  a  man  goes  to  bed  upon,  thankful  that  his  rifle 
is  all  in  pieces  in  the  gun-case.  Behind  everything  rose 
the  black  frame  of  the  Kashi  Bridge — plate  by  plate, 
girder  by  girder,  span  by  span — and  each  pier  of  it  re- 
called Hitchcock,  the  all-round  man,  who  had  stood  by 
his  chief  without  failing  from  the  very  first  to  this  last. 
So  the  bridge  was  two  men's  work — unless  one  counted 
Peroo,  as  Peroo  certainly  counted  himself.  He  was  a 
Lascar,  a  Kharva  from  Bulsar,  familiar  with  every  port 
between  Rockhampton  and  London,  who  had  risen  to 
the  rank  of  serang  on  the  British  India  boats,  but  weary- 
ing of  routine  musters  and  clean  clothes  had  thrown  up 
the  service  and  gone  inland,  where  men  of  his  calibre 
were  sure  of  employment.     For  his  knowledge  of  tackle 

7 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

and  the  handling  of  heavy  weights,  Peroo  was  worth 
almost  any  price  he  might  have  chosen  to  put  upon  his 
services;  but  custom  decreed  the  wage  of  the  overhead- 
men,  and  Peroo  was  not  within  many  silver  pieces  of 
his  proper  value.  Neither  running  water  nor  extreme 
heights  made  him  afraid;  and,  as  an  ex-serang,  he  knew 
how  to  hold  authority.  No  piece  of  iron  was  so  big  or 
so  badly  placed  that  Peroo  could  not  devise  a  tackle  to 
lift  it — a  loose-ended,  sagging  arrangement,  rigged  with 
a  scandalous  amount  of  talking,  but  perfectly  equal  to 
the  work  in  hand.  It  was  Peroo  who  had  saved  the 
girder  of  Number  Seven  Pier  from  destruction  when 
the  new  wire  rope  jammed  in  the  eye  of  the  crane,  and 
the  huge  plate  tilted  in  its  slings,  threatening  to  slide 
out  sideways.  Then  the  native  workmen  lost  their 
heads  with  great  shoutings,  and  Hitchcock's  right  arm 
was  broken  by  a  falling  T-plate,  and  he  buttoned  it  up 
in  his  coat  and  swooned,  and  came  to  and  directed  for 
four  hours  till  Peroo,  from  the  top  of  the  crane,  reported, 
'All's  well,'  and  the  plate  swung  home.  There  was  no 
one  like  Peroo,  serang,  to  lash  and  guy  and  hold,  to 
control  the  donkey-engines,  to  hoist  a  fallen  locomotive 
craftily  out  of  the  borrow-pit  into  which  it  had  tumbled ; 
to  strip  and  dive,  if  need  be,  to  see  how  the  concrete 
blocks  round  the  piers  stood  the  scouring  of  Mother 
Gunga,  or  to  adventure  up-stream  on  a  monsoon  night 
and  report  on  the  state  of  the  embankment-facings. 
He  would  interrupt  the  field-councils  of  Findlayson  and 
Hitchcock  without  fear,  till  his  wonderful  English,  or 
his  still  more  wonderful  lingua-franca,  half  Portuguese 
and  half  Malay,  ran  out  and  he  was  forced  to  take  string 
and  show  the  knots  that  he  would  recommend.  He 
controlled  his  own  gang  of  tacklemen — mysterious  rel- 

8 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

atives  from  Kutch  Mandvi  gathered  month  by  month 
and  tried  to  the  uttermost.  No  consideration  of  family 
or  kin  allowed  Peroo  to  keep  weak  hands  or  a  giddy 
head  on  the  pay-roll.  'My  honour  is  the  honour  of  this 
Bridge,'  he  would  say  to  the  about-to-be  dismissed. 
'What  do  I  care  for  your  honour?  Go  and  work  on  a 
steamer.     That  is  all  you  are  fit  for.' 

The  little  cluster  of  huts  where  he  and  his  gang  lived 
centred  round  the  tattered  dwelling  of  a  sea-priest — one 
who  had  never  set  foot  on  Black  Water,  but  had  been 
chosen  as  ghostly  counsellor  by  two  generations  of  sea- 
rovers,  all  unaffected  by  port  missions  or  those  creeds 
which  are  thrust  upon  sailors  by  agencies  along  Thames' 
bank.  The  priest  of  the  Lascars  had  nothing  to  do  with 
their  caste,  or  indeed  with  anything  at  all.  He  ate  the 
offerings  of  his  church,  and  slept  and  smoked,  and  slept 
again,  'for,'  said  Peroo,  who  had  haled  him  a  thousand 
miles  inland,  'he  is  a  very  holy  man.  He  never  cares 
what  you  eat  so  long  as  you  do  not  eat  beef,  and  that  is 
good,  because  on  land  we  worship  Shiva,  we  Kharvas; 
but  at  sea  on  the  Kumpani's  boats  we  attend  strictly  to 
the  orders  of  the  Burra  Malum  (the  first  mate),  and  on 
this  bridge  we  observe  what  Finlinson  Sahib  says.' 

Findlayson  Sahib  had  that  day  given  orders  to  clear 
the  scaffolding  from  the  guard-tower  on  the  right  bank, 
and  Peroo  with  his  mates  was  casting  loose  and  lowering 
down  the  bamboo  poles  and  planks  as  swiftly  as  ever 
they  had  whipped  the  cargo  out  of  a  coaster. 

From  his  trolley  he  could  hear  the  whistle  of  the 
serang's  silver  pipe  and  the  creak  and  clatter  of  the 
pulleys.  Peroo  was  standing  on  the  topmost  coping  of 
the  tower,  clad  in  the  blue  dungaree  of  his  abandoned 
service,  and  as  Findlayson  motioned  to  him  to  be  care- 

9 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

ful,  for  his  was  no  life  to  throw  away,  he  gripped  the 
last  pole,  and,  shading  his  eyes  ship-fashion,  answered 
with  the  long-drawn  wail  of  the  fo'c'sle  look-out:  'Ham 
dekhta  hai'  ('I  am  looking  out').  Findlayson  laughed, 
and  then  sighed.  It  was  years  since  he  had  seen  a 
steamer,  and  he  was  sick  for  home.  As  his  trolley 
passed  under  the  tower,  Peroo  descended  by  a  rope,  ape- 
fashion,  and  cried:  'It  looks  well  now,  Sahib.  Our 
bridge  is  all  but  done.  What  think  you  Mother  Gunga 
will  say  when  the  rail  runs  over? ' 

'She  has  said  little  so  far.  It  never  was  Mother 
Gunga  that  delayed  us.' 

'There  is  always  time  for  her;  and  none  the  less  there 
has  been  delay.  Has  the  Sahib  forgotten  last  autumn's 
flood,  when  the  stone-boats  were  sunk  without  warning 
— or  only  a  half-day's  warning?' 

'Yes,  but  nothing  save  a  big  flood  could  hurt  us  now. 
The  spurs  are  holding  well  on  the  west  bank.' 

'Mother  Gunga  eats  great  allowances.  There  is  al- 
ways room  for  more  stone  on  the  revetments.  I  tell  this 
to  the  Chota  Sahib' — he  meant  Hitchcock — 'and  he 
laughs.' 

'No  matter,  Peroo.  Another  year  thou  wilt  be  able 
to  build  a  bridge  in  thine  own  fashion.' 

The  Lascar  grinned.  'Then  it  will  not  be  in  this  way 
— with  stonework  sunk  under  water,  as  the  "Quetta" 
was  sunk.  I  like  sus-sus-pen-sheen  bridges  that  fly  from 
bank  to  bank,  with  one  big  step,  like  a  gang-plank.  Then 
no  water  can  hurt.  When  does  the  Lord  Sahib  come 
to  open  the  bridge? ' 

'  In  three  months,  when  the  weather  is  cooler.' 

'Ho!  ho!  He  is  like  the  Burra  Malum.  He  sleeps 
below  while  the  work  is  being  done.     Then  he  comes 

10 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

upon  the  quarter-deck  and  touches  with  his  finger,  and 
says : ' '  This  is  not  clean !     Dam  j iboonwallah ! " ' 

'But  the  Lord  Sahib  does  not  call  me  a  dam  jiboon- 
wallah,  Peroo.' 

'No,  Sahib;  but  he  does  not  come  on  deck  till  the  work 
is  all  finished.  Even  the  Burra  Malum  of  the  "Ner- 
budda  "  said  once  at  Tuticorin — ' 

'Bah!     Go!     I  am  busy.' 

'I,  also!'  said  Peroo,  with  an  unshaken  countenance. 
'May  I  take  the  light  dinghy  now  and  row  along  the 
spurs?' 

'To  hold  them  with  thy  hands?  They  are,  I  think, 
sufficiently  heavy.' 

*  Nay,  Sahib.  It  is  thus.  At  sea,  on  the  Black  Water, 
we  have  room  to  be  blown  up  and  down  without  care. 
Here  we  have  no  room  at  all.  Look  you,  we  have  put 
the  river  into  a  dock,  and  run  her  between  stone  sills.' 

Findlayson  smiled  at  the  'we.' 

'We  have  bitted  and  bridled  her.  She  is  not  like  the 
sea,  that  can  beat  against  a  soft  beach.  She  is  Mother 
Gunga — in  irons.'     His  voice  fell  a  little. 

'  Peroo,  thou  hast  been  up  and  down  the  world  more 
even  than  I.  Speak  true  talk,  now.  How  much  dost 
thou  in  thy  heart  believe  of  Mother  Gunga?' 

'All  that  our  priest  says.  London  is  London,  Sahib.. 
Sydney  is  Sydney,  and  Port  Darwin  is  Port  Darwin, 
Also  Mother  Gunga  is  Mother  Gunga,  and  when  I  come 
back  to  her  banks  I  know  this  and  worship.  In  London 
I  did  poojah  to  the  big  temple  by  the  river  for  the  sake 
of  the  God  within.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  will  not  take  the 
cushions  in  the  dinghy.' 

Findlayson  mounted  his  horse  and  trotted  to  the  shed 
of  a  bungalow  that  he  shared  with  his  assistant.     The 

11 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

place  had  become  home  to  him  in  the  last  three  years. 
He  had  grilled  in  the  heat,  sweated  in  the  rains,  and 
shivered  with  fever  under  the  rude  thatch  roof;  the 
limewash  beside  the  door  was  covered  with  rough  draw- 
ings and  formulae,  and  the  sentry-path  trodden  in  the 
matting  of  the  veranda  showed  where  he  had  walked 
alone.  There  is  no  eight-hour  limit  to  an  engineer's 
work,  and  the  evening  meal  with  Hitchcock  was  eaten 
booted  and  spurred.  Over  their  cigars  they  listened  to 
the  hum  of  the  village  as  the  gangs  came  up  from  the 
river-bed  and  the  lights  began  to  twinkle. 

*Peroo  has  gone  up  the  spurs  in  your  dinghy.  He's 
taken  a  couple  of  nephews  with  him,  and  he's  lolling  in 
the  stern  like  a  commodore,'  said  Hitchcock. 

*  That's  all  right.  He's  got  something  on  his  mind. 
You'd  think  that  ten  years  in  the  British  India  boats 
would  have  knocked  most  of  his  religion  out  of  him.' 

*So  it  has,'  said  Hitchcock,  chuckling.  'I  overheard 
him  the  other  day  in  the  middle  of  a  most  atheistical  talk 
with  that  fat  old  guru  of  theirs.  Peroo  denied  the  efficacy 
of  prayer;  and  wanted  the  guru  to  go  to  sea  and  watch  a 
gale  out  with  him,  and  see  if  he  could  stop  a  monsoon.' 

'All  the  same,  if  you  carried  off  his  guru  he'd  leave  us 
like  a  shot.  He  was  yarning  away  to  me  about  praying 
to  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's  when  he  was  in  London.' 

*He  told  me  that  the  first  time  he  went  into  the  engine- 
room  of  a  steamer,  when  he  was  a  boy,  he  prayed  to  the 
low-press  cylinder.' 

'Not  half  a  bad  thing  to  pray  to,  either.  He's  pro- 
pitiating his  own  Gods  now,  and  he  wants  to  know  what 
Mother  Gunga  will  think  of  a  bridge  being  run  across 
her.  Who's  there? '  A  shadow  darkened  the  doorway, 
and  a  telegram  was  put  into  Hitchcock's  hand. 

12 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

'  She  ought  to  be  pretty  well  used  to  it  by  this  time. 
Only  a  tar.  It  ought  to  be  Ralli's  answer  about  the  new 
rivets.  .  .  .  Great  Heavens! 'Hitchcock  jumped  to  his  feet. 

'What  is  it?'  said  the  senior,  and  took  the  form. 
'That's  what  Mother  Gunga  thinks,  is  it,'  he  said,  read- 
ing. 'Keep  cool,  young  'un.  We've  got  all  our  work 
cut  for  us.  Let's  see.  Muir  wires,  half  an  hour  ago: 
"Floods  on  the  Ramgunga.  Look  out."  Well,  that 
gives  us — one,  two — nine  and  a  half  for  the  flood  to 
reach  Melipur  Ghaut  and  seven's  sixteen  and  a  half  to 
Latodi — say  fifteen  hours  before  it  comes  down  to  us.' 

'  Curse  that  hill-fed  sewer  of  a  Ramgunga !  Findlay- 
son,  this  is  two  months  before  anything  could  have  been 
expected,  and  the  left  bank  is  littered  up  with  stuff  still. 
Two  full  months  before  the  time ! ' 

'That's  why  it  happens.  I've  only  known  Indian 
rivers  for  five  and  twenty  years,  and  I  don't  pretend 
to  understand.  Here  comes  another  tar.'  Findlayson 
opened  the  telegram.  'Cockran,  this  time,  from  the 
Ganges  Canal:  "Heavy  rains  here.  Bad."  He  might 
have  saved  the  last  word.  W^ell,  we  don't  want  to  know 
any  more.  We've  got  to  work  the  gangs  all  night  and 
clean  up  the  river-bed.  You'll  take  the  east  bank  and 
work  out  to  meet  me  in  the  middle.  Get  everything 
that  floats  below  the  bridge:  we  shall  have  quite  enough 
river-craft  coming  down  adrift  anyhow,  without  letting 
the  stone-boats  ram  the  piers.  What  have  you  got  on 
the  east  bank  that  needs  looking  after? ' 

'Pontoon,  one  big  pontoon  with  the  overhead  crane 
on  it.  T'other  overhead  crane  on  the  mended  pontoon, 
with  the  cart-road  rivets  from  Twenty  to  Twenty-three 
piers — two  construction  lines,  and  a  turning-spur.  The 
pile-work  must  take  its  chance,'  said  Hitchcock. 

13 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'All  right.  Roll  up  everything  you  can  lay  hands  on. 
We'll  give  the  gang  fifteen  minutes  more  to  eat  their 
grub.' 

Close  to  the  veranda  stood  a  big  night-gong,  never 
used  except  for  flood,  or  fire  in  the  village.  Hitchcock 
had  called  for  a  fresh  horse,  and  was  off  to  his  side  of  the 
bridge  when  Findlayson  took  the  cloth-bound  stick  and 
smote  with  the  rubbing  stroke  that  brings  out  the  full 
thunder  of  the  metal. 

Long  before  the  last  rumble  ceased  every  night-gong 
in  the  village  had  taken  up  the  warning.  To  these  were 
added  the  hoarse  screaming  of  conchs  in  the  little  tem- 
ples; the  throbbing  of  drums  and  tomtoms;  and  from 
the  European  quarters,  where  the  riveters  lived,  M'Cart- 
ney's  bugle,  a  weapon  of  offence  on  Sundays  and  festi- 
vals, brayed  desperately,  calling  to  'Stables.'  Engine 
after  engine  toiling  home  along  the  spurs  after  her  day's 
work  whistled  in  answer  till  the  whistles  were  answered 
from  the  far  bank.  Then  the  big  gong  thundered  thrice 
for  a  sign  that  it  was  flood  and  not  fire;  conch,  drum, 
and  whistle  echoed  the  call,  and  the  village  quivered  to 
the  sound  of  bare  feet  running  upon  soft  earth.  The 
order  in  all  cases  was  to  stand  by  the  day's  work  and 
wait  instructions.  The  gangs  poured  by  in  the  dusk; 
men  stopping  to  knot  a  loin-cloth  or  fasten  a  sandal; 
gang-foremen  shouting  to  their  subordinates  as  they 
ran  or  paused  by  the  tool-issue  sheds  for  bars  and  mat- 
tocks; locomotives  creeping  down  their  tracks  wheel- 
deep  in  the  crowd,  till  the  brown  torrent  disappeared 
into  the  dusk  of  the  river-bed,  raced  over  the  pile-work, 
swarmed  along  the  lattices,  clustered  by  the  cranes,  and 
stood  still,  each  man  in  his  place. 

Then  the  troubled  beating  of  the  gong  carried  the 

14 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

order  to  take  up  everything  and  bear  it  beyond  high- 
water  mark,  and  the  flare-lamps  broke  out  by  the  hun- 
dred between  the  webs  of  dull-iron  as  the  riveters  began 
a  night's  work  racing  against  the  flood  that  was  to  come. 
The  girders  of  the  three  centre  piers — those  that  stood 
on  the  cribs — were  all  but  in  position.  They  needed 
just  as  many  rivets  as  could  be  driven  into  them,  for  the 
flood  would  assuredly  wash  out  the  supports,  and  the 
iron-work  would  settle  down  on  the  caps  of  stone  if 
they  were  not  blocked  at  the  ends.  A  hundred  crow- 
bars strained  at  the  sleepers  of  the  temporary  line  that 
fed  the  unfinished  piers.  It  was  heaved  up  in  lengths, 
loaded  into  trucks,  and  backed  up  the  bank  beyond 
flood-level  by  the  groaning  locomotives.  The  tool- 
sheds  on  the  sands  melted  away  before  the  attack  of 
shouting  armies,  and  with  them  went  the  stacked  ranks 
of  Government  stores,  iron-bound  boxes  of  rivets,  pliers, 
cutters,  duplicate  parts  of  the  riveting-machines,  spare 
pumps  and  chains.  The  big  crane  would  be  the  last  to 
be  shifted,  for  she  was  hoisting  all  the  heavy  stuff  up  to 
the  main  structure  of  the  bridge.  The  concrete  blocks 
on  the  fleet  of  stone-boats  were  dropped  overside,  where 
there  was  any  depth  of  water,  to  guard  the  piers,  and 
the  empty  boats  themselves  were  poled  under  the  bridge 
down-stream.  It  was  here  that  Peroo's  pipe  shrilled 
loudest,  for  the  first  stroke  of  the  big  gong  had  brought 
back  the  dinghy  at  racing  speed,  and  Peroo  and  his  people 
were  stripped  to  the  waist,  working  for  the  honour  and 
credit  which  are  better  than  life. 

'I  knew  she  would  speak,'  he  cried.  *I  knew,  but  the 
telegraph  gave  us  good  warning.  0  sons  of  unthinkable 
begetting — children  of  unspeakable  shame — are  we  here 
for  the  look  of  the  thing? '     It  was  two  feet  of  wire  rope 

15 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

frayed  at  the  ends,  and  it  did  wonders  as  Peroo  leaped 
from  gunnel  to  gunnel,  shouting  the  language  of  the  sea. 

Findlayson  was  more  troubled  for  the  stone-boats 
than  anything  else.  M'Cartney,  with  his  gangs,  was 
blocking  up  the  ends  of  the  three  doubtful  spans,  but 
boats  adrift,  if  the  flood  chanced  to  be  a  high  one,  might 
endanger  the  girders;  and  there  was  a  very  fleet  in  the 
shrunken  channels. 

'Get  them  behind  the  swell  of  the  guard-tower,'  he 
shouted  to  Peroo,  'It  will  be  dead-water  there;  get 
them  below  the  bridge.' 

'Accha!  [Very  good.]  I  know.  We  are  mooring 
them  with  wire  rope,'  was  the  answer.  'Heh!  Listen 
to  the  Chota  Sahib.     He  is  working  hard.' 

From  across  the  river  came  an  almost  continuous 
whistling  of  locomotives,  backed  by  the  rumble  of  stone. 
Hitchcock  at  the  last  minute  was  spending  a  few  hun- 
dred more  trucks  of  Tarakee  stone  in  reinforcing  his 
spurs  and  embankments. 

'The  bridge  challenges  Mother  Gunga,'  said  Peroo, 
with  a  laugh.  'But  when  she  talks  I  know  whose  voice 
will  be  the  loudest.' 

For  hours  the  naked  men  worked,  screaming  and 
shouting  under  the  lights.  It  was  a  hot,  moonless  night ; 
the  end  of  it  was  darkened  by  clouds  and  a  sudden  squall 
that  made  Findlayson  very  grave. 

'She  moves!'  said  Peroo,  just  before  the  dawn. 
*  Mother  Gunga  is  awake !  Hear ! '  He  dipped  his  hand 
over  the  side  of  a  boat  and  the  current  mumbled  on  it. 
A  little  wave  hit  the  side  of  a  pier  with  a  crisp  slap. 

'Six  hours  before  her  time,'  said  Findlayson,  mopping 
his  forehead  savagely.  *Now  we  can't  depend  on  any- 
thing.   We'd  better  clear  all  hands  out  of  the  river-bed.' 

16 


THE  BRIDGE -BUILDERS 

Again  the  big  gong  beat,  and  a  second  time  there  was 
the  rushing  of  naked  feet  on  earth  and  ringing  iron;  the 
clatter  of  tools  ceased.  In  the  silence,  men  heard  the 
dry  yawn  of  water  crawling  over  thirsty  sand. 

Foreman  after  foreman  shouted  to  Findlayson,  who 
had  posted  himself  by  the  guard-tower,  that  his  section 
of  the  river-bed  had  been  cleaned  out,  and  when  the  last 
voice  dropped  Findlayson  hurried  over  the  bridge  till 
the  iron  plating  of  the  permanent  way  gave  place  to 
the  temporary  plank-walk  over  the  three  centre  piers, 
and  there  he  met  Hitchcock. 

'  'All  clear  your  side?'  said  Findlayson.  The  whisper 
rang  in  the  box  of  latticework. 

'  Yes,  and  the  east  channel's  filling  now.  We're  utterly 
out  of  our  reckoning.    When  is  this  thing  down  on  us? ' 

*  There's  no  saying.  She's  filling  as  fast  as  she  can. 
Look ! '  Findlayson  pointed  to  the  planks  below  his  feet, 
where  the  burned  sand,  defiled  by  months  of  work,  was 
beginning  to  whisper  and  fizz. 

'What  orders?'  said  Hitchcock. 

'Call  the  roll — count  stores — sit  on  your  hunkers — 
and  pray  for  the  bridge.  That's  all  I  can  think  of. 
Good-night.  Don't  risk  your  life  trying  to  fish  out  any- 
thing that  may  go  down-stream.' 

'Oh,  I'll  be  as  prudent  as  you  are!  'Night.  Heavens, 
how  she's  filling!  Here's  the  rain  in  earnest!'  Find- 
layson picked  his  way  back  to  his  bank,  sweeping  the 
last  of  M'Cartney's  riveters  before  him.  The  gangs 
had  spread  themselves  along  the  embankments,  regard- 
less of  the  cold  rain  of  the  dawn,  and  there  they  waited 
for  the  flood.  Only  Peroo  kept  his  men  together  behind 
the  swell  of  the  guard-tower,  where  the  stone-boats  lay 
tied  fore  and  aft  with  hawsers,  wire-rope,  and  chains. 

17 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

A  shrill  wail  ran  along  the  line,  growing  to  a  yell,  half 
fear  and  half  w^onder:  the  face  of  the  river  whitened  from 
bank  to  bank  between  the  stone  facings,  and  the  far- 
away spurs  went  out  in  spouts  of  foam.  Mother  Gunga 
had  come  bank-high  in  haste,  and  a  wall  of  chocolate- 
coloured  water  was  her  messenger.  There  was  a  shriek 
above  the  roar  of  the  water,  the  complaint  of  the  spans 
coming  down  on  their  blocks  as  the  cribs  were  whirled 
out  from  under  their  bellies.  The  stone-boats  groaned 
and  ground  each  other  in  the  eddy  that  swung  round 
the  abutment,  and  their  clumsy  masts  rose  higher  and 
higher  against  the  dim  sky-line. 

'Before  she  was  shut  between  these  walls  we  knew 
what  she  would  do.  Now  she  is  thus  cramped  God 
only  knows  what  she  will  do ! '  said  Peroo,  watching  the 
furious  turmoil  round  the  guard-tower.  '  Ohe !  Fight, 
then!  Fight  hard,  for  it  is  thus  that  a  woman  wears 
herself  out.' 

But  Mother  Gunga  would  not  fight  as  Peroo  desired. 
After  the  first  down-stream  plunge  there  came  no  more 
walls  of  water,  but  the  river  lifted  herself  bodily,  as  a 
snake  when  she  drinks  in  midsummer,  plucking  and 
fingering  along  the  revetments,  and  banking  up  behind 
the  piers  till  even  Findlayson  began  to  recalculate  the 
strength  of  his  work. 

When  day  came  the  village  gasped.  '  Only  last  night,' 
men  said,  turning  to  each  other,  '  it  was  as  a  town  in  the 
river-bed !     Look  now ! ' 

And  they  looked  and  wondered  afresh  at  the  deep 
water,  the  racing  water  that  licked  the  throat  of  the 
piers.  The  farther  bank  was  veiled  by  rain,  into  which 
the  bridge  ran  out  and  vanished;  the  spurs  up-stream 
were  marked  by  no  more  than  eddies  and  spoutings,  and 

18 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

down-stream  the  pent  river,  once  free  of  her  guide-lines, 
had  spread  like  a  sea  to  the  horizon.  Then  hurried  by, 
rolling  in  the  water,  dead  men  and  oxen  together,  with 
here  and  there  a  patch  of  thatched  roof  that  melted 
when  it  touched  a  pier. 

'Big  flood,'  said  Peroo,  and  Findlayson  nodded.  It 
was  as  big  a  flood  as  he  had  any  wish  to  watch.  His 
bridge  would  stand  what  was  upon  her  now,  but  not 
very  much  more;  and  if  by  any  of  a  thousand  chances 
there  happened  to  be  a  weakness  in  the  embankments, 
Mother  Gunga  would  carry  his  honour  to  the  sea  with 
the  other  raffle.  Worst  of  all,  there  was  nothing  to  do 
except  to  sit  stifl;  and  Findlayson  sat  still  under  his 
macintosh  till  his  helmet  became  pulp  on  his  head,  and 
his  boots  were  over-ankle  in  mire.  He  took  no  count  of 
time,  for  the  river  was  marking  the  hours,  inch  by  inch 
and  foot  by  foot,  along  the  embankment,  and  he  listened, 
numb  and  hungry,  to  the  straining  of  the  stone-boats, 
the  hollow  thunder  under  the  piers,  and  the  hundred 
noises  that  make  the  full  note  of  a  flood.  Once  a  drip- 
ping servant  brought  him  food,  but  he  could  not  eat; 
and  once  he  thought  that  he  heard  a  faint  toot  from  a 
locomotive  across  the  river,  and  then  he  smiled.  The 
bridge's  failure  would  hurt  his  assistant  not  a  little,  but 
Hitchcock  was  a  young  man  with  his  big  work  yet  to  do. 
For  himself  the  crash  meant  everything — everything 
that  made  a  hard  life  worth  the  living.  They  would 
say,  the  men  of  his  own  profession — he  remembered  the 
half-pitying  things  that  he  himself  had  said  when  Lock- 
hart's  big  water-works  burst  and  broke  down  in  brick 
heaps  and  sludge,  and  Lockhart's  spirit  broke  in  him 
and  he  died.  He  remembered  what  he  himself  had 
said  when  the  Sumao  Bridge  went  out  in  the  big  cyclone 

19 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

by  the  sea;  and  most  he  remembered  poor  Hartopp's  face 
three  weeks  later,  when  the  shame  had  marked  it.  His 
bridge  was  twice  the  size  of  Hartopp's,  and  it  carried 
the  Findlayson  truss  as  well  as  the  new  pier-shoe — 
the  Findlayson  bolted  shoe.  There  were  no  excuses  in 
his  service.  Government  might  listen,  perhaps,  but  his 
own  kind  would  judge  him  by  his  bridge,  as  that  stood 
or  fell.  He  went  over  it  in  his  head,  plate  by  plate, 
span  by  span,  brick  by  brick,  pier  by  pier,  remember- 
ing, comparing,  estimating,  and  recalculating,  lest  there 
should  be  any  mistake;  and  through  the  long  hours  and 
through  the  flights  of  formulas  that  danced  and  wheeled 
before  him  a  cold  fear  would  come  to  pinch  his  heart. 
His  side  of  the  sum  was  beyond  question;  but  what  man 
knew  Mother  Gunga's  arithmetic?  Even  as  he  was 
making  all  sure  by  the  multiplication-table,  the  river 
might  be  scooping  pot-holes  to  the  very  bottom  of  any 
one  of  those  eighty-foot  piers  that  carried  his  reputation. 
Again  a  servant  came  to  him  with  food,  but  his  mouth 
was  dry,  and  he  could  only  drink  and  return  to  the  deci- 
mals in  his  brain.  And  the  river  was  still  rising.  Peroo, 
in  a  mat  shelter-coat,  crouched  at  his  feet,  watching  now 
his  face  and  now  the  face  of  the  river,  but  saying  nothing. 

At  last  the  Lascar  rose  and  floundered  through  the 
mud  towards  the  village,  but  he  was  careful  to  leave 
an  ally  to  watch  the  boats. 

Presently  he  returned,  most  irreverently  driving  before 
him  the  priest  of  his  creed — a  fat  old  man,  with  a  gray 
beard  that  whipped  the  wind  with  the  wet  cloth  that 
blew  over  his  shoulder.  Never  was  seen  so  lamentable 
a  guru. 

'What  good  are  offerings  and  little  kerosene  lamps 
and  dry  grain,'  shouted  Peroo,  'if  squatting  in  the  mud 

20 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

is  all  that  thou  canst  do?  Thou  hast  dealt  long  with 
the  Gods  when  they  were  contented  and  well-wishing. 
Now  they  are  angry.     Speak  to  them ! ' 

'What  is  a  man  against  the  wrath  of  Gods?'  whined 
the  priest,  cowering  as  the  wind  took  him.  'Let  me  go 
to  the  temple,  and  I  will  pray  there.' 

'Son  of  a  pig,  pray  here!  Is  there  no  return  for  salt 
fish  and  curry  powder  and  dried  onions?  Call  aloud! 
Tell  Mother  Gunga  we  have  had  enough.  Bid  her  be 
still  for  the  night.  I  cannot  pray,  but  I  have  served 
in  the  Kumpani's  boats,  and  when  men  did  not  obey  my 
orders  I — '  A  flourish  of  the  wire-rope  colt  rounded  the 
sentence,  and  the  priest,  breaking  from  his  disciple,  fled 
to  the  village. 

'Fat  pig!'  said  Peroo.  'After  all  that  we  have  done 
for  him !  When  the  flood  is  down  I  will  see  to  it  that  we 
get  a  new  guru.  Finlinson  Sahib,  it  darkens  for  night 
now,  and  since  yesterday  nothing  has  been  eaten.  Be 
wise.  Sahib.  No  man  can  endure  watching  and  great 
thinking  on  an  empty  belly.  Lie  down,  Sahib.  The 
river  wfll  do  what  the  river  will  do.' 

'The  bridge  is  mine;  I  cannot  leave  it.' 

'Wilt  thou  hold  it  up  with  thy  hands,  then?'  said 
Peroo,  laughing.  'I  was  troubled  for  my  boats  and 
sheers  before  the  flood  came.  Now  we  are  in  the  hands 
of  the  Gods.  The  Sahib  will  not  eat  and  lie  down? 
Take  these,  then.  They  are  meat  and  good  toddy  to- 
gether, and  they  kill  all  weariness,  besides  the  fever  that 
follows  the  rain.    I  have  eaten  nothing  else  to-day  at  all.' 

He  took  a  small  tin  tobacco-box  from  his  sodden  waist- 
belt  and  thrust  it  into  Findlayson's  hand,  saying,  'Nay, 
do  not  be  afraid.  It  is  no  more  than  opium — clean 
Malwa  opium ! ' 

21 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

Findlayson  shook  two  or  three  of  the  dark-brown 
pellets  into  his  hand,  and  hardly  knowing  what  he  did, 
swallowed  them.  The  stuff  was  at  least  a  good  guard 
against  fever — the  fever  that  was  creeping  upon  him 
out  of  the  wet  mud — and  he  had  seen  what  Peroo  could 
do  in  the  stewing  mists  of  autumn  on  the  strength  of  a 
dose  from  the  tin  box. 

Peroo  nodded  with  bright  eyes.  'In  a  little — in  a 
little  the  Sahib  will  find  that  he  thinks  well  again.  I  too 
will — '  He  dived  into  his  treasure-box,  resettled  the 
rain-coat  over  his  head,  and  squatted  down  to  watch 
the  boats.  It  was  too  dark  now  to  see  beyond  the  first 
pier,  and  the  night  seemed  to  have  given  the  river  new 
strength.  Findlayson  stood  with  his  chin  on  his  chest, 
thinking.  There  was  one  point  about  one  of  the  piers — - 
the  Seventh — that  he  had  not  fully  settled  in  his  mind. 
The  figures  would  not  shape  themselves  to  the  eye 
except  one  by  one  and  at  enormous  intervals  of  time. 
There  was  a  sound,  rich  and  mellow  in  his  ears,  like  the 
deepest  note  of  a  double-bass — an  entrancing  sound  upon 
which  he  pondered  for  several  hours,  as  it  seemed. 
Then  Peroo  was  at  his  elbow,  shouting  that  a  wire  haw- 
ser had  snapped  and  the  stone-boats  were  loose.  Find- 
layson saw  the  fleet  open  and  swing  out  fan-wise  to  a 
long-drawn  shriek  of  wire  straining  across  gunnels. 

'A  tree  hit  them.  They  will  all  go,'  cried  Peroo.  '  The 
main  hawser  has  parted.     What  does  the  Sahib  do? ' 

An  immensely  complex  plan  had  suddenly  flashed 
into  Findlayson's  mind.  He  saw  the  ropes  running 
from  boat  to  boat  in  straight  lines  and  angles — each 
rope  a  line  of  white  fire.  But  there  was  one  rope  which 
was  the  master-rope.  He  could  see  that  rope.  If  he 
could  pull  it  once,  it  was  absolutely  and  mathematically 

22 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

certain  that  the  disordered  fleet  would  reassemble  itself 
in  the  backwater  behind  the  guard-tower.  But  why, 
he  wondered,  was  Peroo  clinging  so  desperately  to  his 
waist  as  he  hastened  down  the  bank?  It  was  necessary 
to  put  the  Lascar  aside,  gently  and  slowly,  because  it 
was  necessary  to  save  the  boats,  and,  further,  to  demon- 
strate the  extreme  ease  of  the  problem  that  looked  so 
difficult.  And  then — but  it  was  of  no  conceivable  im- 
portance— a  wire  rope  raced  through  his  hand,  burning 
it,  the  high  bank  disappeared,  and  with  it  all  the  slowly 
dispersing  factors  of  the  problem.  He  was  sitting  in 
the  rainy  darkness — sitting  in  a  boat  that  spun  like  a 
top,  and  Peroo  was  standing  over  him. 

*I  had  forgotten,'  said  the  Lascar  slowly,  'that  to 
those  fasting  and  unused  the  opium  is  worse  than  any 
wine.  Those  who  die  in  Gunga  go  to  the  Gods.  Still, 
I  have  no  desire  to  present  myself  before  such  great 
ones.     Can  the  Sahib  swim? ' 

'  What  need?  He  can  fly — fly  as  swiftly  as  the  wind,' 
was  the  thick  answer. 

*He  is  mad!'  muttered  Peroo  under  his  breath.  'And 
he  threw  me  aside  like  a  bundle  of  dung-cakes.  Well, 
he  will  not  know  his  death.  The  boat  cannot  live  an 
hour  here  even  if  she  strike  nothing.  It  is  not  good  to 
look  at  death  with  a  clear  eye.' 

He  refreshed  himself  again  from  the  tin  box,  squatted 
down  in  the  bows  of  the  reeling,  pegged,  and  stitched 
craft,  staring  through  the  mist  at  the  nothing  that  was 
there.  A  warm  drowsiness  crept  over  Findlayson,  the 
Chief  Engineer,  whose  duty  was  with  his  bridge.  The 
heavy  raindrops  struck  him  with  a  thousand  tingling 
little  thrills,  and  the  weight  of  all  time  since  time  was 
made  hung  heavy  on  his  eyelids.     He  thought  and  per- 

23 


TIIK  DAY'S  WORK 

ceived  that  he  was  perfectly  secure,  for  the  water  was  so 
solid  that  a  man  could  surely  step  out  upon  it,  and,  stand- 
ing still  with  his  legs  apart  to  keep  his  balance — this  was 
the  most  important  point — would  be  borne  with  great 
and  easy  speed  to  the  shore.  But  yet  a  better  plan 
came  to  him.  It  needed  only  an  exertion  of  will  for  the 
soul  to  hurl  the  body  ashore  as  wind  drives  paper;  to 
waft  it  kite-fashion  to  the  bank.  Thereafter — the  boat 
spun  dizzily — suppose  the  high  wind  got  under  the 
freed  body?  Would  it  tower  up  like  a  kite  and  pitch 
headlong  on  the  far-away  sands,  or  would  it  duck 
about  beyond  control  through  all  eternity?  Findlayson 
gripped  the  gunnel  to  anchor  himself,  for  it  seemed  that 
he  was  on  the  edge  of  taking  the  flight  before  he  had 
settled  all  his  plans.  Opium  has  more  effect  on  the 
white  man  than  the  black.  Peroo  was  only  comfortably 
indifferent  to  accidents.  'She  cannot  live,'  he  grunted. 
'Her  seams  open  already.  If  she  were  even  a  dinghy 
with  oars  we  could  have  ridden  it  out;  but  a  box  with 
holes  is  no  good.     Finlinson  Sahib,  she  fills.' 

'  Accha !     I  am  going  away.     Come  thou  also.' 

In  his  mind  Findlayson  had  already  escaped  from  the 
boat,  and  was  circling  high  in  air  to  find  a  rest  for  the 
sole  of  his  foot.  His  body — he  was  really  sorry  for  its 
gross  helplessness — lay  in  the  stern,  the  water  rushing 
about  its  knees. 

'How  very  ridiculous!'  he  said  to  himself,  from  his 
eyrie ;  '  that — is  Findlayson — chief  of  the  Kashi  Bridge. 
The  poor  beast  is  going  to  be  drowned,  too.  Drowned 
when  it's  close  to  shore.  I'm — I'm  on  shore  already. 
Why  doesn't  it  come  along? ' 

To  his  intense  disgust,  he  found  his  soul  back  in  his 
body  again,  and  that  body  spluttering  and  choking  in 

24 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

deep  water.  The  pain  of  the  reunion  was  atrocious, 
but  it  was  necessary,  also,  to  fight  for  the  body.  He 
was  conscious  of  grasping  wildly  at  wet  sand,  and  strid- 
ing prodigiously,  as  one  strides  in  a  dream,  to  keep  foot- 
hold in  the  swirling  water,  till  at  last  he  hauled  himself 
clear  of  the  hold  of  the  river,  and  dropped,  panting,  on 
wet  earth. 

'Not  this  night,'  said  Peroo  in  his  ear.  'The  Gods 
have  protected  us.'  The  Lascar  moved  his  feet  cau- 
tiously, and  they  rustled  among  dried  stumps.  'This 
is  some  island  of  last  year's  indigo  crop,'  he  went  on. 
'We  shall  find  no  men  here;  but  have  great  care.  Sahib; 
all  the  snakes  of  a  hundred  miles  have  been  flooded  out. 
Here  comes  the  lightning,  on  the  heels  of  the  wind.  Now 
we  shall  be  able  to  look;  but  walk  carefully.' 

Findlayson  was  far  and  far  beyond  any  fear  of  snakes, 
or  indeed  any  merely  human  emotion.  He  saw,  after 
he  had  rubbed  the  water  from  his  eyes,  with  an  immense 
clearness,  and  trod,  so  it  seemed  to  himself,  with  world- 
encompassing  strides.  Somewhere  in  the  night  of  time 
he  had  built  a  bridge — a  bridge  that  spanned  illimitable 
levels  of  shining  seas;  but  the  Deluge  had  swept  it  away, 
leaving  this  one  island  under  heaven  for  Findlayson  and 
his  companion,  sole  survivors  of  the  breed  of  man. 

An  incessant  lightning,  forked  and  blue,  showed  all 
that  there  was  to  be  seen  on  the  little  patch  in  the  flood 
— a  clump  of  thorn,  a  clump  of  swaying,  creaking  bam- 
boos, and  a  gray  gnarled  peepul  overshadowing  a  Hindoo 
shrine,  from  whose  dome  floated  a  tattered  red  flag. 
The  holy  man  whose  summer  resting-place  it  was  had 
long  since  abandoned  it,  and  the  weather  had  broken 
the  red-daubed  image  of  his  God.  The  two  men  stum- 
bled, heavy-limbed  and  heavy-eyed,  over  the  ashes  of  a 

25 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

brick-set  cooking-place,  and  dropped  down  under  the 
shelter  of  the  branches,  while  the  rain  and  river  roared 
together. 

The  stumps  of  the  indigo  crackled,  and  there  was  a 
smell  of  cattle,  as  a  huge  and  dripping  Brahminee  Bull 
shouldered  his  w^ay  under  the  tree.  The  flashes  re- 
vealed the  trident  mark  of  Shiva  on  his  flank,  the  inso- 
lence of  head  and  hump,  the  luminous  stag-like  eyes, 
the  brow  crowned  with  a  wreath  of  sodden  marigold 
blooms,  and  the  silky  dewlap  that  nigh  swept  the  ground. 
There  was  a  noise  behind  him  of  other  beasts  coming  up 
from  the  flood-line  through  the  thicket,  a  sound  of  heavy 
feet  and  deep  breathing. 

'Here  be  more  beside  ourselves,'  said  Findlayson,  his 
head  against  the  tree-pole,  looking  through  half-shut  eyes, 
wholly  at  ease. 

'Truly,'  said  Peroo  thickly,  'and  no  small  ones.' 

'  What  are  they,  then?     I  do  not  see  clearly.' 

'  The  Gods.     W^ho  else?     Look ! ' 

'Ah,  true!  The  Gods  surely — the  Gods.'  Findlay- 
son smiled  as  his  head  fell  forward  on  his  chest.  Peroo 
was  eminently  right.  After  the  Flood,  who  should  be 
alive  in  the  land  except  the  Gods  that  made  it — the 
Gods  to  whom  his  village  prayed  nightly — the  Gods  who 
were  in  all  men's  mouths  and  about  all  men's  ways? 
He  could  not  raise  his  head  or  stir  a  finger  for  the  trance 
that  held  him,  and  Peroo  was  smiling  vacantly  at  the 
lightning. 

The  Bull  paused  by  the  shrine,  his  head  lowered  to 
the  damp  earth.  A  green  Parrot  in  the  branches  preened 
his  wet  wings  and  screamed  against  the  thunder  as  the 
circle  under  the  tree  filled  with  the  shifting  shadows  of 
beasts.     There  was  a  Blackbuck  at  the  Bull's  heels — 

26 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

such  a  buck  as  Findlayson  in  his  far-away  life  upon  earth 
might  have  seen  in  dreams — a  buck  with  a  royal  head, 
ebon  back,  silver  belly,  and  gleaming  straight  horns. 
Beside  him,  her  head  bowed  to  the  ground,  the  green 
eyes  burning  under  the  heavy  brows,  with  restless  tail 
switching  the  dead  grass,  paced  a  Tigress,  full-bellied 
and  deep-jowled. 

The  Bull  crouched  beside  the  shrine,  and  there  leaped 
from  the  darkness  a  monstrous  gray  Ape,  who  seated 
himself  man-wise  in  the  place  of  the  fallen  image,  and 
the  rain  spilled  like  jewels  from  the  hair  of  his  neck  and 
shoulders. 

Other  shadows  came  and  went  behind  the  circle, 
among  them  a  drunken  Man  flourishing  staff  and  drink- 
ing-bottle.  Then  a  hoarse  bellow  broke  out  from  near 
the  ground.  'The  flood  lessens  even  now,'  it  cried. 
'Hour  by  hour  the  water  falls,  and  their  bridge  still 
stands ! ' 

'My  bridge,'  said  Findlayson  to  himself.  'That  must 
be  very  old  work  now.  What  have  the  Gods  to  do  with 
my  bridge? ' 

His  eyes  rolled  in  the  darkness  following  the  roar.  A 
Crocodile — the  blunt-nosed,  ford-haunting  Mugger  of 
the  Ganges — draggled  herself  before  the  beasts,  lashing 
furiously  to  right  and  left  with  her  tail. 

'They  have  made  it  too  strong  for  me.  In  all  this 
night  I  have  only  torn  away  a  handful  of  planks.  The 
walls  stand!  The  towers  stand!  They  have  chained 
my  flood,  and  my  river  is  not  free  any  more.  Heavenly 
Ones,  take  this  yoke  away!  Give  me  clear  water  be- 
tween bank  and  bank!  It  is  I,  Mother  Gunga,  that 
speak.  The  Justice  of  the  Gods!  Deal  me  the  Justice 
of  the  Gods!' 

27 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

•What  said  I?'  whispered  Peroo.  'This  is  in  truth  a 
Punchayet  of  the  Gods.  Now  we  know  that  all  the 
world  is  dead,  save  you  and  I,  Sahib.' 

The  Parrot  screamed  and  fluttered  again,  and  the 
Tigress,  her  ears  flat  to  her  head,  snarled  wickedly. 

Somewhere  in  the  shadow  a  great  trunk  and  gleaming 
tusks  swayed  to  and  fro,  and  a  low  gurgle  broke  the 
silence  that  followed  on  the  snarl. 

'  We  be  here,'  said  a  deep  voice, '  the  Great  Ones.  One 
only  and  very  many.  Shiv,  my  father,  is  here,  with  Indra. 
Kali  has  spoken  already.     Hanuman  listens  also.' 

'Kashi  is  without  her  Kotwal  to-night,'  shouted  the 
Man  with  the  drinking-bottle,  flinging  his  staff  to  the 
ground,  while  the  island  rang  to  the  baying  of  hounds. 
'  Give  her  the  Justice  of  the  Gods.' 

'Ye  were  still  when  they  polluted  my  waters,'  the 
great  Crocodile  bellowed.  'Y^e  made  no  sign  when  my 
river  was  trapped  between  the  walls.  I  had  no  help 
save  my  own  strength,  and  that  failed — the  strength 
of  Mother  Gunga  failed — before  their  guard-towers. 
What  could  I  do?  I  have  done  everything.  Finish 
now,  Heavenly  Ones ! ' 

'  I  brought  the  death;  I  rode  the  spotted  sickness  from 
hut  to  hut  of  their  workmen,  and  yet  they  would  not 
cease.'  A  nose-slitten,  hide- worn  Ass,  lame,  scissor- 
legged,  and  galled,  limped  forward.  'I  cast  the  death 
at  them  out  of  my  nostrils,  but  they  would  not  cease.' 

Peroo  would  have  moved,  but  the  opium  lay  heavy 
upon  him. 

'Bah!'  he  said,  spitting.  'Here  is  Sitala  herself;  Mata 
— the  small-pox.  Has  the  Sahib  a  handkerchief  to  put 
over  his  face? ' 

'Small  help!'  said  the  Crocodile.     'They  fed  me  the 

28 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

corpses  for  a  month,  and  I  flung  them  out  on  my  sand- 
bars, but  their  work  went  forward.  Demons  they  are, 
and  sons  of  demons!  And  ye  left  Mother  Gunga  alone 
for  their  fire-carriage  to  make  a  mock  of.  The  Justice 
of  the  Gods  on  the  bridge-builders!' 

The  Bull  turned  the  cud  in  his  mouth  and  answered 
slowly,  '  If  the  Justice  of  the  Gods  caught  all  who  made 
a  mock  of  holy  things,  there  would  be  many  dark  altars 
in  the  land,  mother.' 

'But  this  goes  beyond  a  mock,'  said  the  Tigress,  dart- 
ing forward  a  griping  paw.  'Thou  knowest,  Shiv,  and 
ye  too,  Heavenly  Ones;  ye  know  that  they  have  defiled 
Gunga.  Surely  they  must  come  to  the  Destroyer. 
Let  Indra  judge.' 

The  Buck  made  no  movement  as  he  answered,  'How 
long  has  this  evil  been?' 

'Three  years,  as  men  count  years,'  said  the  Mugger, 
close  pressed  to  the  earth. 

'Does  Mother  Gunga  die,  then,  in  a  year,  that  she  is 
so  anxious  to  see  vengeance  now?  The  deep  sea  was 
where  she  runs  but  yesterday,  and  to-morrow  the  sea 
shall  cover  her  again  as  the  Gods  count  that  which  men 
call  time.  Can  any  say  that  this  their  bridge  endures 
till  to-morrow? '  said  the  Buck. 

There  was  a  long  hush,  and  in  the  clearing  of  the  storm 
the  full  moon  stood  up  above  the  dripping  trees. 

'Judge  ye,  then,'  said  the  Mugger  sullenly.  'I  have 
spoken  my  shame.  The  flood  falls  still.  I  can  do  no 
more.' 

'  For  my  own  part' —  it  was  the  voice  of  the  great  Ape 
seated  within  the  shrine — 'it  pleases  me  well  to  watch 
these  men,  remembering  that  I  also  builded  no  small 
bridge  in  the  world's  youth.' 

29 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

*They  say,  too,'  snarled  the  Tiger,  'that  these  men 
came  of  the  wreck  of  thy  armies,  Hanuman,  and  there- 
fore thou  hast  aided — ' 

'They  toil  as  my  armies  toiled  in  Lanka,  and  they 
believe  that  their  toil  endures.  Indra  is  too  high,  but 
Shiv,  thou  knowest  how  the  land  is  threaded  with  their 
fire-carriages.' 

'Yea,  I  know,'  said  the  Bull.  'Their  Gods  instructed 
them  in  the  matter.' 

A  laugh  ran  round  the  circle. 

'Their  Gods!  What  should  their  Gods  know?  They 
were  born  yesterday,  and  those  that  made  them  are 
scarcely  yet  cold,'  said  the  Mugger.  'To-morrow  their 
Gods  will  die.' 

'Ho!'  said  Peroo.  'Mother  Gunga  talks  good  talk. 
I  told  that  to  the  padre-sahib  who  preached  on  the 
"Mombassa,"  and  he  asked  the  Burra  Malum  to  put 
me  in  irons  for  a  great  rudeness.' 

'Surely  they  make  these  things  to  please  their  Gods,' 
said  the  Bull  again. 

'Not  altogether,'  the  Elephant  rolled  forth.  'It  is 
for  the  profit  of  my  mahajuns — my  fat  money-lenders 
that  worship  me  at  each  new  year,  when  they  draw  my 
image  at  the  head  of  the  account-books.  I,  looking 
over  their  shoulders  by  lamp-light,  see  that  the  names 
in  the  books  are  those  of  men  in  far  places —  for  all  the 
towns  are  drawn  together  by  the  fire-carriage,  and  the 
money  comes  and  goes  swiftly,  and  the  account-books 
grow  as  fat  as — myself.  And  I,  who  am  Ganesh  of 
Good  Luck,  I  bless  my  peoples.' 

'They  have  changed  the  face  of  the  land — which  is 
my  land.  They  have  killed  and  made  new  towns  on  my 
banks,'  said  the  Mugger. 

30 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

'  It  is  but  the  shifting  of  a  Httle  dirt.  Let  the  dirt  dig 
in  the  dirt  if  it  pleases  the  dirt,'  answered  the  Elephant. 

'But  afterwards?'  said  the  Tiger.  'Afterwards  they 
will  see  that  Mother  Gunga  can  avenge  no  insult,  and 
they  fall  away  from  her  first,  and  later  from  us  all,  one 
by  one.  In  the  end,  Ganesh,  we  are  left  with  naked 
altars.' 

The  drunken  Man  staggered  to  his  feet,  and  hiccupped 
vehemently  in  the  face  of  the  assembled  Gods. 

*  Kali  lies.  My  sister  lies.  Also  this  my  stick  is  the 
Kotwal  of  Kashi,  and  he  keeps  tally  of  my  pilgrims. 
When  the  time  comes  to  worship  Bhairon — and  it  is 
always  time — the  fire-carriages  move  one  by  one,  and 
each  bears  a  thousand  pilgrims.  They  do  not  come 
afoot  any  more,  but  rolling  upon  wheels,  and  my  honour 
is  increased.' 

'  Gunga,  I  have  seen  thy  bed  at  Pryag  black  with  the 
pilgrims,'  said  the  Ape,  leaning  forward,  'and  but  for 
the  fire-carriage  they  would  have  come  slowly  and  in 
fewer  numbers.     Remember.' 

'They  come  to  me  always,'  Bhairon  went  on  thickly. 
*By  day  and  night  they  pray  to  me,  all  the  Common 
People  in  the  fields  and  the  roads.  Who  is  like  Bhairon 
to-day?  What  talk  is  this  of  changing  faiths?  Is  my 
staff  Kotwal  of  Kashi  for  nothing?  He  keeps  the  tally, 
and  he  says  that  never  were  so  many  altars  as  to-day, 
and  the  fire-carriage  serves  them  well.  Bhairon  am  I — 
Bhairon  of  the  Common  People,  and  the  chief  est  of  the 
Heavenly  Ones  to-day.     Also  my  staff  says — ' 

*  Peace,  thou!'  lowed  the  Bull.  'The  worship  of  the 
schools  is  mine,  and  they  talk  very  wisely,  asking  whether 
I  be  one  or  many,  as  is  the  delight  of  my  people,  and  ye 
know  what  I  am.     Kali,  my  wife,  thou  knowest  also.' 

31 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

*  Yea,  I  know,'  said  the  Tigress,  with  lowered  head. 

'Greater  am  I  than  Gunga  also.  For  ye  know  who 
moved  the  minds  of  men  that  they  should  count  Gunga 
holy  among  the  rivers.  Who  die  in  that  water — yc 
know  how  men  say — come  to  Us  without  punishment, 
and  Gunga  knows  that  the  fire-carriage  has  borne  to  her 
scores  upon  scores  of  such  anxious  ones;  and  Kali  knows 
that  she  has  held  her  chiefest  festivals  among  the  pil- 
grimages that  are  fed  by  the  fire-carriage.  W^ho  smote 
at  Pooree,  under  the  Image  there,  her  thousands  in  a 
day  and  a  night,  and  bound  the  sickness  to  the  wheels 
of  the  fire-carriages,  so  that  it  ran  from  one  end  of  the 
land  to  the  other?  W^ho  but  Kali?  Before  the  fire- 
carriage  came  it  was  a  heavy  toil.  The  fire-carriages 
have  served  thee  well,  Mother  of  Death.  But  I  speak 
for  mine  own  altars,  who  am  not  Bhairon  of  the  Common 
Folk,  but  Shiv.  Men  go  to  and  fro,  making  words  and 
telling  talk  of  strange  Gods,  and  I  listen.  Faith  follows 
faith  among  my  people  in  the  schools,  and  I  have  no 
anger;  for  when  the  words  are  said,  and  the  new  talk  is 
ended,  to  Shiv  men  return  at  the  last.' 

*True.  It  is  true,'  murmured  Hanuman.  'To  Shiv 
and  to  the  others,  mother,  they  return.  I  creep  from 
temple  to  temple  in  the  North,  where  they  worship  one 
God  and  His  Prophet;  and  presently  my  image  is  alone 
within  their  shrines.' 

'Small  thanks,'  said  the  Buck,  turning  his  head  slowly. 
'I  am  that  One  and  His  Prophet  also.' 

'Even  so,  father,'  said  Hanuman.  'And  to  the  South 
I  go  who  am  the  oldest  of  the  Gods  as  men  know  the 
Gods,  and  presently  I  touch  the  shrines  of  the  new  faith 
and  the  Woman  whom  we  know  is  hewn  twelve-armed, 
and  still  they  call  her  Mary.' 

32 


illH  BRIDGE-BUILDEHS 

'  Small  thanks,  brother,'  said  the  Tigress.  '  1  am  that 
Woman.' 

'  Even  so,  sister ;  and  I  go  West  among  the  fire-carriages, 
and  stand  before  the  bridge-builders  in  many  shapes, 
and  because  of  me  they  change  their  faiths  and  are  very 
wise.  Ho!  ho!  I  am  the  builder  of  bridges  indeed — 
bridges  between  this  and  that,  and  each  bridge  leads 
surely  to  Us  in  the  end.  Be  content,  Gunga.  Neither 
these  men  nor  those  that  follow  them  mock  thee  at 
all.' 

'Am  I  alone,  then,  Heavenly  Ones?  Shall  I  smooth 
out  my  flood  lest  unhappily  I  bear  away  their  walls? 
Will  Indra  dry  my  springs  in  the  hills  and  make  me 
crawl  humbly  between  their  wharfs?  Shall  I  bury  me 
in  the  sand  ere  I  offend? ' 

'And  all  for  the  sake  of  a  little  iron  bar  with  the  fire- 
carriage  atop.  Truly,  Mother  Gunga  is  always  young!' 
said  Ganesh  the  Elephant.  'A  child  had  not  spoken 
more  foolishly.  Let  the  dirt  dig  in  the  dirt  ere  it  return 
to  the  dirt.  I  know  only  that  my  people  grow  rich  and 
praise  me.  Shiv  has  said  that  the  men  of  the  schools  do 
not  forget;  Bhairon  is  content  for  his  crowd  of  the  Com- 
mon People:  and  Hanuman  laughs.' 

'Surely  I  laugh,'  said  the  Ape.  'My  altars  are  few 
beside  those  of  Ganesh  or  Bhairon,  but  the  fire-carriages 
bring  me  new  worshippers  from  beyond  the  Black  Water 
— the  men  who  believe  that  their  God  is  toil.  I  run 
before  them  beckoning,  and  they  follow  Hanuman.' 

'Give  them  the  toil  that  they  desire,  then,'  said  the 
Mugger.  *Make  a  bar  across  my  flood  and  throw  the 
water  back  upon  the  bridge.  Once  thou  wast  strong 
in  Lanka,  Hanuman.     Stoop  and  lift  my  bed.' 

'Who  gives  life  can  take  life.*    The  Ape  scratched  in 

33 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

the  mud  with  a  long  forefinger.     'And  yet,  who  would 
profit  by  the  killing?     Very  many  would  die.' 

There  came  up  from  the  water  a  snatch  of  a  love-song 
such  as  the  boys  sing  when  they  watch  their  cattle  in 
the  noon  heats  of  late  spring.  The  Parrot  screamed 
joyously,  sidling  along  his  branch  with  lowered  head  as 
the  song  grew  louder,  and  in  a  patch  of  clear  moonlight 
stood  revealed  the  young  herd,  the  darling  of  the  Gopis, 
the  idol  of  dreaming  maids  and  of  mothers  ere  their  chil- 
dren are  born — Krishna  the  Well-beloved.  He  stooped 
to  knot  up  his  long  wet  hair,  and  the  Parrot  fluttered 
to  his  shoulder. 

'Fleeting  and  singing,  and  singing  and  fleeting,'  hic- 
cupped Bhairon.  '  Those  make  thee  late  for  the  council, 
brother.' 

'And  then?'  said  Krishna,  with  a  laugh,  throwing 
back  his  head.  'Ye  can  do  little  without  me  or  Karma 
here.'  He  fondled  the  Parrot's  plumage  and  laughed 
again.  'What  is  this  sitting  and  talking  together?  I 
heard  Mother  Gunga  roaring  in  the  dark,  and  so  came 
quickly  from  a  hut  where  I  lay  warm.  And  what  have 
ye  done  to  Karma,  that  he  is  so  wet  and  silent?  And 
what  does  Mother  Gunga  here?  Are  the  heavens  full 
that  ye  must  come  paddling  in  the  mud  beast-wise? 
Karma,  what  do  they  do?' 

'Gunga  has  prayed  for  a  vengeance  on  the  bridge- 
builders,  and  Kali  is  with  her.  Now  she  bids  Hanuman 
whelm  the  bridge,  that  her  honour  may  be  made  great,' 
cried  the  Parrot.  'I  waited  here,  knowing  that  thou 
wouldst  come,  0  my  master!' 

'And  the  Heavenly  Ones  said  nothing?  Did  Gunga 
and  the  Mother  of  Sorrows  outtalk  them?  Did  none 
speak  for  my  people? ' 

34 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

*Nay,'  said  Ganesh,  moving  uneasily  from  foot  to 
foot;  *I  said  it  was  but  dirt  at  play,  and  why  should  we 
stamp  it  flat? ' 

'I  was  content  to  let  them  toil — well  content,'  said 
Hanuman. 

'What  had  I  to  do  with  Gunga's  anger?'  said  the  Bull. 

*I  am  Bhairon  of  the  Common  Folk,  and  this  my  staff 
is  Kotwal  of  all  Kashi.    I  spoke  for  the  Common  People.' 

'  Thou? '     The  young  God's  eyes  sparkled. 

*Am  I  not  the  first  of  the  Gods  in  their  mouths  to- 
day?' returned  Bhairon,  unabashed.  '  For  the  sake  of  the 
Common  People  I  said — very  many  wise  things  which  I 
have  now  forgotten — but  this  my  staff — ' 

Krishna  turned  impatiently,  saw  the  Mugger  at  his 
feet,  and  kneeling,  slipped  an  arm  round  the  cold  neck. 
'Mother,'  he  said  gently,  'get  thee  to  thy  flood  again. 
The  matter  is  not  for  thee.  What  harm  shall  thy  hon- 
our take  of  this  live  dirt?  Thou  hast  given  them  their 
fields  new  year  after  year,  and  by  thy  flood  they  are 
made  strong.  They  come  all  to  thee  at  the  last.  What 
need  to  slay  them  now?  Have  pity,  mother,  for  a  little 
— and  it  is  only  for  a  little.' 

'  If  it  be  only  for  a  little — '  the  slow  beast  began. 

'Are  they  Gods,  then?'  Krishna  returned  with  a  laugh, 
his  eyes  looking  into  the  dull  eyes  of  the  Mugger.  'Be 
certain  that  it  is  only  for  a  little.  The  Heavenly  Ones 
have  heard  thee,  and  presently  justice  will  be  done. 
Go  now,  mother,  to  the  flood  again.  Men  and  cattle 
are  thick  on  the  waters — the  banks  fall — the  villages 
melt  because  of  thee.' 

'But  the  bridge — the  bridge  stands.'  The  Mugger 
turned  grunting  into  the  undergrowth  as  Krishna  rose. 

'It  is  ended,'  said  the  Tigress,  viciously.      'There  is 

35 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

no  more  justice  from  the  Heavenly  Ones.  Ye  have 
made  shame  and  sport  of  Gunga,  who  asked  no  more 
than  a  few  score  Hves.' 

'Of  my  people — who  lie  under  the  leaf-roofs  of  the 
village  yonder — of  the  young  girls,  and  the  young  men 
who  sing  to  them  in  the  dark — of  the  child  that  will  be 
born  next  morn — of  that  which  was  begotten  to-night,' 
said  Krishna.  'And  when  all  is  done,  what  profit?  To- 
morrow sees  them  at  work.  Ay,  if  ye  swept  the  bridge 
out  from  end  to  end  they  would  begin  anew.  Hear 
me!  Bhairon  is  drunk  always.  Hanuman  mocks  his 
people  with  new  riddles.' 

'  Nay,  but  they  are  very  old  ones, '  the  Ape  said,  laughing. 

*Shiv  hears  the  talk  of  the  schools  and  the  dreams  of 
the  holy  men.  Ganesh  thinks  only  of  his  fat  traders; 
but  I — I  live  with  these  my  people,  asking  for  no  gifts, 
and  so  receiving  them  hourly.' 

'And  very  tender  art  thou  of  thy  people,'  said  the 
Tigress. 

'They  are  my  own.  The  old  women  dream  of  me, 
turning  in  their  sleep ;  the  maids  look  and  listen  for  me 
when  they  go  to  fill  their  lotahs  by  the  river.  I  walk 
by  the  young  men  waiting  without  the  gates  at  dusk, 
and  I  call  over  my  shoulder  to  the  white-beards.  Ye 
know.  Heavenly  Ones,  that  I  alone  of  us  all  walk  upon 
the  earth  continually,  and  have  no  pleasure  in  our 
heavens  so  long  as  a  green  blade  springs  here,  or  there 
are  two  voices  at  twilight  in  the  standing  crops.  Wise 
are  ye,  but  ye  live  far  off,  forgetting  whence  ye  came. 
So  do  I  not  forget.  And  the  fire-carriage  feeds  your 
shrines,  ye  say?  And  the  fire-carriages  bring  a  thousand 
pilgrimages  where  but  ten  came  in  the  old  years?  True. 
That  is  true  to-day.' 

36 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

'But  to-morrow  they  are  dead,  brother,'  said  Ganesh. 

'Peace!'  said  the  Bull,  as  Hanuman  leaned  forward 
again.     'And  to-morrow,  beloved — what  of  to-morrow?' 

'This  only.  A  new  word  creeping  from  mouth  to 
mouth  among  the  Common  Folk — a  word  that  neither 
man  nor  God  can  lay  hold  of — an  evil  word — a  little 
lazy  word  among  the  Common  Folk,  saying  (and  none 
know  who  set  that  word  afoot)  that  they  weary  of  ye. 
Heavenly  Ones.' 

The  Gods  laughed  together  softly.  'And  then,  be- 
loved?' they  said. 

'And  to  cover  that  weariness  they,  my  people,  will 
bring  to  thee,  Shiv,  and  to  thee,  Ganesh,  at  first  greater 
offerings  and  a  louder  noise  of  worship.  But  the  word 
has  gone  abroad,  and,  after,  they  will  pay  fewer  dues  to 
your  fat  Brahmins.  Next  they  will  forget  your  altars, 
but  so  slowly  that  no  man  can  say  how  his  forgetfulness 
began.' 

*I  knew — I  knew!  I  spoke  this  also,  but  they  would 
not  hear,'  said  the  Tigress.  'We  should  have  slain — 
we  should  have  slain!' 

'  It  is  too  late  now.  Ye  should  have  slain  at  the  be- 
ginning, when  the  men  from  across  the  water  had  taught 
our  folk  nothing.  Now  my  people  see  their  work,  and 
go  away  thinking.  They  do  not  think  of  the  Heavenly 
Ones  altogether.  They  think  of  the  fire-carriage  and 
the  other  things  that  the  bridge-builders  have  done,  and 
when  your  priests  thrust  forward  hands  asking  alms, 
they  give  unwillingly  a  little.  That  is  the  beginning, 
among  one  or  two,  or  five  or  ten — for  I,  moving  among 
my  people,  know  what  is  in  their  hearts.' 

'And  the  end.  Jester  of  the  Gods?  What  shall  the 
end  be?'  said  Ganesh. 

37 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

*The  end  shall  be  as  it  was  in  the  beginning,  0  sloth- 
ful son  of  Shiv!  The  flame  shall  die  upon  the  altars  and 
the  prayer  upon  the  tongue  till  ye  become  little  Gods 
again — Gods  of  the  jungle — names  that  the  hunters  of 
rats  and  noosers  of  dogs  whisper  in  the  thicket  and 
among  the  caves — rag-Gods,  pot  Godlings  of  the  tree, 
and  the  village-mark,  as  ye  were  at  the  beginning. 
That  is  the  end,  Ganesh,  for  thee,  and  for  Bhairon — 
Bhairon  of  the  Common  People.' 

'It  is  very  far  away,'  grunted  Bhairon.  'Also,  it  is  a 
lie.' 

'Many  women  have  kissed  Krishna.  They  told  him 
this  to  cheer  their  own  hearts  when  the  gray  hairs  came, 
and  he  has  told  us  the  tale,'  said  the  Bull,  below  his 
breath. 

'Their  Gods  came,  and  we  changed  them.  I  took  the 
Woman  and  made  her  twelve-armed.  So  shall  we  twist 
all  their  Gods,'  said  Hanuman. 

'Their  Gods!  This  is  no  question  of  their  Gods — one 
or  three — man  or  woman.  The  matter  is  with  the 
people.  They  move,  and  not  the  Gods  of  the  bridge- 
builders,'  said  Krishna. 

'So  be  it.  I  have  made  a  man  worship  the  fire-car- 
riage as  it  stood  still  breathing  smoke,  and  he  knew  not 
that  he  worshipped  me,'  said  Hanuman  the  Ape.  '  They 
will  only  change  a  little  the  names  of  their  Gods.  I 
shall  lead  the  builders  of  the  bridges  as  of  old;  Shiv  shall 
be  worshipped  in  the  schools  by  such  as  doubt  and 
despise  their  fellows;  Ganesh  shall  have  his  mahajuns, 
and  Bhairon  the  donkey-drivers,  the  pilgrims,  and  the 
sellers  of  toys.  Beloved,  they  will  do  no  more  than 
change  the  names,  and  that  we  have  seen  a  thousand 
times.' 

33 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

'Surely  they  will  do  no  more  than  change  the  names,' 
echoed  Ganesh:  but  there  was  an  uneasy  movement 
among  the  Gods. 

'They  will  change  more  than  the  names.  Me  alone 
they  cannot  kill,  so  long  as  maiden  and  man  meet  to- 
gether or  the  spring  follows  the  winter  rains.  Heavenly 
Ones,  not  for  nothing  have  I  walked  upon  the  earth. 
My  people  know^  not  now  what  they  know;  but  I,  who 
live  with  them,  I  read  their  hearts.  Great  Kings,  the 
beginning  of  the  end  is  born  already.  The  fire-carriages 
shout  the  names  of  new  Gods  that  are  not  the  old  under 
new  names.  Drink  now  and  eat  greatly!  Bathe  your 
faces  in  the  smoke  of  the  altars  before  they  grow  cold! 
Take  dues  and  listen  to  the  cymbals  and  the  drums, 
Heavenly  Ones,  while  yet  there  are  flowers  and  songs. 
As  men  count  time  the  end  is  far  off;  but  as  we  who 
know  reckon  it  is  to-day.     I  have  spoken.' 

The  young  God  ceased,  and  his  brethren  looked  at 
each  other  long  in  silence. 

'This  I  have  not  heard  before,'  Peroo  whispered  in  his 
companion's  ear.  'And  yet  sometimes,  when  I  oiled 
the  brasses  in  the  engine-room  of  the  "Goorkha,"  I  have 
wondered  if  our  priests  were  so  wise — so  wise.  The  day 
is  coming.  Sahib.     They  will  be  gone  by  the  morning.' 

A  yellow  light  broadened  in  the  sky,  and  the  tone  of 
the  river  changed  as  the  darkness  withdrew. 

Suddenly  the  Elephant  trumpeted  aloud  as  though 
man  had  goaded  him. 

'Let  Indra  judge.  Father  of  all,  speak  thou!  What 
of  the  things  we  have  heard?  Has  Krishna  lied  indeed? 
Or—' 

'Ye  know,'  said  the  Buck,  rising  to  his  feet.  'Ye 
know  the  Riddle  of  the  Gods.     When  Brahm  ceases  to 

39 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

dream  the  Heavens  and  the  Hells  and  Earth  disappear. 
Be  content.  Brahm  dreams  still.  The  dreams  come 
and  go,  and  the  nature  of  the  dreams  changes,  but  still 
Brahm  dreams.  Krishna  has  walked  too  long  upon 
earth,  and  yet  I  love  him  the  more  for  the  tale  he  has 
told.     The  Gods  change,  beloved — all  save  One!' 

'  Ay,  all  save  one  that  makes  love  in  the  hearts  of  men, ' 
said  Krishna,  knotting  his  girdle.  'It  is  but  a  little 
time  to  wait,  and  ye  shall  know  if  I  lie.' 

'Truly  it  is  but  a  little  time,  as  thou  sayest,  and  we 
shall  know.  Get  thee  to  thy  huts  again,  beloved,  and 
make  sport  for  the  young  things,  for  still  Brahm  dreams. 
Go,  my  children!  Brahm  dreams — and  till  He  wakes 
the  Gods  die  not.' 

*  Whither  went  they?'  said  the  Lascar,  awestruck, 
shivering  a  little  with  the  cold. 

'God  knows!'  said  Findlayson.  The  river  and  the 
island  lay  in  full  daylight  now,  and  there  was  never 
mark  of  hoof  or  pug  on  the  wet  earth  under  the  peepul. 
Only  a  parrot  screamed  in  the  branches,  bringing  down 
showers  of  water-drops  as  he  fluttered  his  wings. 

*Up!  We  are  cramped  with  cold!  Has  the  opium 
died  out?     Canst  thou  move,  Sahib?' 

Findlayson  staggered  to  his  feet  and  shook  himself. 
His  head  swam  and  ached,  but  the  work  of  the  opium 
was  over,  and,  as  he  sluiced  his  forehead  in  a  pool,  the 
Chief  Engineer  of  the  Kashi  Bridge  was  wondering  how 
he  had  managed  to  fall  upon  the  island,  what  chances  the 
day  offered  of  return,  and,  above  all,  how  his  work  stood. 

'Peroo,  I  have  forgotten  much.  I  was  under  the 
guard-tower  watching  the  river;  and  then —  Did  the 
flood  sweep  us  away? ' 

40 


thf:  bridge  builders 

'No.  The  boats  broke  loose,  Sahib,  and'  (if  the 
Sahib  had  forgotten  about  the  opium,  decidedly  Peroo 
would  not  remind  him)  'in  striving  to  retie  them,  so  it 
seemed  to  me — but  it  was  dark — a  rope  caught  the 
Saliib  and  threw  him  upon  a  boat.  Considering  that 
we  two,  with  Hitchcock  Sahib,  built,  as  it  were,  that 
bridge,  I  came  also  upon  the  boat,  which  came  riding 
on  horseback,  as  it  were,  on  the  nose  of  this  island,  and 
so,  splitting,  cast  us  ashore.  I  made  a  great  cry  when 
the  boat  left  the  wharf,  and  without  doubt  Hitchcock 
Sahib  will  come  for  us.  As  for  the  bridge,  so  many  have 
died  in  the  building  that  it  cannot  fall.' 

A  fierce  sun,  that  drew  out  all  the  smell  of  the  sodden 
land,  had  followed  the  storm,  and  in  that  clear  light 
there  was  no  room  for  a  man  to  think  of  dreams  of  the 
dark.  Findlayson  stared  up-stream,  across  the  blaze  of 
moving  water,  till  his  eyes  ached.  There  was  no  sign  of 
any  bank  to  the  Ganges,  much  less  of  a  bridge-line. 

'  We  came  down  far,'  he  said.  '  It  was  wonderful  that 
we  were  not  drowned  a  hundred  times.' 

'That  was  the  least  of  the  wonder,  for  no  man  dies 
before  his  time.  I  have  seen  Sydney,  I  have  seen  Lon- 
don, and  twenty  great  ports,  but' — Peroo  looked  at  the 
damp,  discoloured  shrine  under  the  peepul — 'never  man 
has  seen  that  we  saw  here.' 

'What?' 

'Has  the  Sahib  forgotten;  or  do  we  black  men  only 
seethe  Gods?' 

'There  was  a  fever  upon  me.'  Findlayson  was  still 
looking  uneasily  across  the  water.  '  It  seemed  that  the 
island  was  full  of  beasts  and  men  talking,  but  I  do  not 
remember.  A  boat  could  live  in  this  water  now,  I 
think.' 

41 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'Oho!  Then  it  is  true.  "When  Brahm  ceases  to 
dream,  the  Gods  die."  Now  I  know,  indeed,  what  he 
meant.  Once,  too,  the  guru  said  as  much  to  me;  but 
then  I  did  not  understand.     Now  I  am  wise.' 

'  What?'  said  Findlayson  over  his  shoulder. 

Peroo  went  on  as  if  he  were  talking  to  himself.  '  Six — 
seven — ten  monsoons  since,  I  was  watch  on  the  fo'c'sle 
of  the  "Rewah" — the  Kumpani's  big  boat — and  there 
was  a  big  tufan,  green  and  black  water  beating;  and  I 
held  fast  to  the  life-lines,  choking  under  the  waters. 
Then  I  thought  of  the  Gods — of  Those  whom  we  saw 
to-night' — he  stared  curiously  at  Findlayson's  back, 
but  the  white  man  was  looking  across  the  flood.  'Yes, 
I  say  of  Those  whom  we  saw  this  night  past,  and  I  called 
upon  Them  to  protect  me.  And  while  I  prayed,  still 
keeping  my  look-out,  a  big  wave  came  and  threw  me 
forward  upon  the  ring  of  the  great  black  bow-anchor, 
and  the  "Rewah"  rose  high  and  high,  leaning  towards 
the  left-hand  side,  and  the  water  drew  away  from  be- 
neath her  nose,  and  I  lay  upon  my  belly,  holding  the 
ring,  and  looking  down  into  those  great  deeps.  Then  I 
thought,  even  in  the  face  of  death,  if  I  lose  hold  I  die, 
and  for  me  neither  the  "Rewah"  nor  my  place  by  the 
galley  where  the  rice  is  cooked,  nor  Bombay,  nor  Cal- 
cutta, nor  even  London,  will  be  any  more  for  me.  "  How 
shall  I  be  sure,"  I  said,  "that  the  Gods  to  whom  I  pray 
will  abide  at  all?"  This  I  thought,  and  the  "Rewah" 
dropped  her  nose  as  a  hammer  falls,  and  all  the  sea  came 
in  and  slid  me  backwards  along  the  fo'c'sle  and  over  the 
break  of  the  fo'c'sle,  and  I  very  badly  bruised  my  shin 
against  the  donkey-engine :  but  I  did  not  die,  and  I  have 
seen  the  Gods.  They  are  good  for  live  men,  but  for  the 
dead —    They  have  spoken  Themselves.     Therefore, 

42 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

when  I  come  to  the  village  I  will  beat  the  guru  for  talk- 
ing riddles  which  are  no  riddles.  When  Brahm  ceases 
to  dream,  the  Gods  go.' 

'Lookup-stream.  The  light  blinds.  Is  there  smoke 
yonder?' 

Peroo  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hands.  'He  is  a  wise 
man  and  quick.  Hitchcock  Sahib  would  not  trust  a  row- 
boat.  He  has  borrowed  the  Rao  Sahib's  steam-launch, 
and  comes  to  look  for  us.  I  have  always  said  that  there 
should  have  been  a  steam-launch  on  the  bridge-works 
for  us.' 

The  territory  of  the  Rao  of  Baraon  lay  within  ten 
miles  of  the  bridge;  and  Findlayson  and  Hitchcock  had 
spent  a  fair  portion  of  their  scanty  leisure  in  playing 
billiards  and  shooting  blackbuck  with  the  young  man. 
He  had  been  bear-led  by  an  English  tutor  of  sporting 
tastes  for  some  five  or  six  years,  and  was  now  royally 
wasting  the  revenues  accumulated  during  his  minority  by 
the  Indian  Government.  His  steam-launch,  with  its  silver- 
plated  rails,  striped  silk  awning,  and  mahogany  decks, 
was  a  new  toy  which  Findlayson  had  found  horribly  in 
the  way  when  the  Rao  came  to  look  at  the  bridge-works. 

'It's  great  luck,'  murmured  Findlayson,  but  he  was 
none  the  less  afraid,  wondering  what  news  might  be  of 
the  bridge. 

The  gaudy  blue  and  white  funnel  came  down-stream 
swiftly.  They  could  see  Hitchcock  in  the  bows,  with  a 
pair  of  opera-glasses,  and  his  face  was  unusually  white. 
Then  Peroo  hailed,  and  the  launch  made  for  the  tail  of 
the  island.  The  Rao  Sahib,  in  tweed  shooting-suit  and 
a  seven-hued  turban,  waved  his  royal  hand,  and  Hitch- 
cock shouted.  But  he  need  have  asked  no  questions, 
for  Findlayson's  first  demand  was  for  his  bridge. 

43 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'All  serene!  'Gad,  I  never  expected  to  see  you  again, 
Findlayson.  You're  seven  koss  down-stream.  Yes, 
there's  not  a  stone  shifted  anywhere;  but  how  are  you? 
I  borrowed  the  Rao  Sahib's  launch,  and  he  was  good 
enough  to  come  along.     Jump  in.' 

'  Ah,  Finlinson,  you  are  very  well,  eh?  That  was  most 
unprecedented  calamity  last  night,  eh?  My  royal  pal- 
ace, too,  it  leaks  like  the  devil,  and  the  crops  will  also 
be  short  all  about  my  country.  Now  you  shall  back  her 
out,  Hitchcock.  I — I  do  not  understand  steam-engines. 
You  are  wet?  You  are  cold,  Finlinson?  I  have  some 
things  to  eat  here,  and  you  will  take  a  good  drink.' 

'  I'm  immensely  grateful,  Rao  Sahib.  I  believe  you've 
saved  my  life.     How  did  Hitchcock — ' 

'Oho!  His  hair  was  upon  end.  He  rode  to  me  in 
the  middle  of  the  night  and  woke  me  up  in  the  arms  of 
Morphus.  I  was  most  truly  concerned,  Finlinson,  so  I 
came  too.  My  head-priest  he  is  very  angry  just  now. 
We  will  go  quick,  Mister  Hitchcock.  I  am  due  to 
attend  at  twelve  forty-five  in  the  state  temple,  where 
we  sanctify  some  new  idol.  If  not  so  I  would  have 
asked  you  to  spend  the  day  with  me.  They  are  dam- 
bore,  these  religious  ceremonies,  Finlinson,  eh?' 

Peroo,  well  known  to  the  crew,  had  possessed  himself 
of  the  wheel,  and  was  taking  the  launch  craftily  up^ 
stream.  But  while  he  steered  he  was,  in  his  mind, 
handling  two  feet  of  partially  untwisted  wire  rope;  and 
the  back  upon  which  he  beat  was  the  back  of  his  guru. 


44 


A  WALKING  DELEGATE 

(1894) 

4  CCORDING  to  the  custom  of  Vermont,  Sunday 
ZA  afternoon  is  salting-time  on  the  farm,  and,  un- 
1.  jL  less  something  very  important  happens,  we  at- 
tend to  the  salting  ourselves.  Dave  and  Pete,  the  red 
oxen,  are  treated  first;  they  stay  in  the  home  meadow, 
ready  for  work  on  Monday.  Then  come  the  cows,  with 
Pan,  the  calf,  who  should  have  been  turned  into  veal 
long  ago,  but  survived  on  account  of  his  manners;  and, 
lastly,  the  horses,  scattered  through  the  seventy  acres 
of  the  Back  Pasture. 

You  must  go  down  by  the  brook  that  feeds  the  click- 
ing, bubbling  water-ram;  up  through  the  sugar-bush, 
where  the  young  maple  undergrowth  closes  round  you 
like  a  shallow  sea;  next  follow  the  faint  line  of  an  old 
county-road  running  past  two  green  hollows  fringed 
with  wild  rose  that  mark  the  cellars  of  two  ruined  houses ; 
then  by  Lost  Orchard,  where  nobody  ever  comes  except 
in  cider-time;  then  across  another  brook,  and  so  into  the 
Back  Pasture.  Half  of  it  is  pine  and  hemlock  and 
spruce,  with  sumach  and  little  juniper-bushes,  and  the 
other  half  is  gray  rock  and  boulder  and  moss,  with  green 
streaks  of  brake  and  swamp ;  but  the  horses  like  it  well 
enough — our  own,  and  the  others  that  are  turned  down 
there  to  feed  at  fifty  cents  a  week.     Most  people  walk 

45 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

to  the  Back  Pasture,  and  find  it  very  rough  work;  but 
one  can  get  there  in  a  buggy,  if  the  horse  knows  what 
is  expected  of  him.  The  safest  conveyance  is  our  coupe. 
This  began  life  as  a  buckboard,  and  we  bought  it  for 
five  dollars  from  a  sorrowful  man  who  had  no  other  sort 
of  possessions;  and  the  seat  came  off  one  night  when  we 
were  turning  a  corner  in  a  hurry.  After  that  alteration 
it  made  a  beautiful  salting-machine,  if  you  held  tight, 
because  there  was  nothing  to  catch  your  feet  when  you 
fell  out,  and  the  slats  rattled  tunes. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  we  went  out  with  the  salt  as 
usual.  It  was  a  broiling  hot  day,  and  we  could  not  find 
the  horses  anywhere  till  we  let  Tedda  Gabler,  the  bob- 
tailed  mare  who  throws  up  the  dirt  with  her  big  hoofs 
exactly  as  a  tedder  throws  hay,  have  her  head.  Clever 
as  she  is,  she  tipped  the  coupe  over  in  a  hidden  brook 
before  she  came  out  on  a  ledge  of  rock  where  all  the 
horses  had  gathered  and  were  switching  flies.  The  Dea- 
con was  the  first  to  call  to  her.  He  is  a  very  dark 
iron-gray  four-year-old,  son  of  Grandee.  He  has  been 
handled  since  he  was  two,  was  driven  in  a  light  cart 
before  he  was  three,  and  now  ranks  as  an  absolutely 
steady  lady's  horse — proof  against  steam  rollers,  grade- 
crossings,  and  street  processions. 

'Salt!'  said  the  Deacon,  joyfully.  'You're  dreffle 
late,  Tedda.' 

'Any — any  place  to  cramp  the  coupe?'  Tedda  panted. 
'It  draws  turr'ble  this  weather.  I'd  'a'  come  sooner, 
but  they  didn't  know  what  they  wanted — ner  haow. 
Fell  out  twice,  both  of  them.  I  don't  understand  sech 
foolishness.' 

'You  look  consider'ble  het  up.  Guess  you'd  better 
cramp  her  under  them  pines,  an'  cool  off  a  piece.' 

46 


A  WALKING  DELEGATE 

Tedda  scrambled  on  the  ledge,  and  cramped  the  coupe 
in  the  shade  of  a  tiny  little  wood  of  pines,  while  my  com- 
panion and  I  lay  down  among  the  brown,  silky  needles, 
and  gasped.  All  the  home  horses  were  gathered  round 
us,  enjoying  their  Sunday  leisure. 

There  were  Rod  and  Rick,  the  seniors  on  the  farm. 
They  were  the  regular  road-pair,  bay  with  black  points, 
full  brothers,  aged,  sons  of  a  Hambletonian  sire  and  a 
Morgan  dam.  There  were  Nip  and  Tuck,  seal-browns, 
rising  six,  brother  and  sister.  Black  Hawks  by  birth, 
perfectly  matched,  just  finishing  their  education,  and  as 
handsome  a  pair  as  man  could  wish  to  find  in  a  forty- 
mile  drive.  There  was  Muldoon,  our  ex-car-horse, 
bought  at  a  venture,  and  any  colour  you  choose  that  is 
not  white;  and  Tweezy,  who  comes  from  Kentucky, 
with  an  affliction  of  his  left  hip,  which  makes  him  a  little 
uncertain  how  his  hind  legs  are  moving.  He  and  Mul- 
doon had  been  hauling  gravel  all  the  week  for  our  new 
road.  The  Deacon  you  know  already.  Last  of  all,  and 
eating  something,  was  our  faithful  Marcus  Aurelius 
Antoninus,  the  black  buggy-horse,  who  had  seen  us 
through  every  state  of  weather  and  road,  the  horse  who 
was  always  standing  in  harness  before  some  door  or 
other — a  philosopher  with  the  appetite  of  a  shark  and 
the  manners  of  an  archbishop.  Tedda  Gabler  was  a 
new  'trade,'  with  a  reputation  for  vice  which  was  really 
the  result  of  bad  driving.  She  had  one  working  gait, 
which  she  could  hold  till  further  notice;  a  Roman  nose; 
a  large,  prominent  eye ;  a  shaving-brush  of  a  tail ;  and  an 
irritable  temper.  She  took  her  salt  through  her  bridle; 
but  the  others  trotted  up  nuzzling  and  wickering  for 
theirs,  till  we  emptied  it  on  the  clean  rocks.  They  were 
all  standing  at  ease,  on  three  legs  for  the  most  part,  talk- 

47 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

ing  the  ordinar>^  gossip  of  the  Back  Pasture— about  the 
scarcity  of  water,  and  gaps  in  the  fence,  and  how  the 
early  windfalls  tasted  that  season — when  little  Rick 
blew  the  last  few  grains  of  his  allowance  into  a  crevice, 
and  said: 

'Hurry,  boys!  Might  ha'  knowed  that  Livery-plug 
would  be  around.' 

We  heard  a  clatter  of  hoofs,  and  there  climbed  up 
from  the  ravine  below  a  fifty-center  transient — a  wall- 
eyed, yellow  frame-house  of  a  horse,  sent  up  to  board 
from  a  livery-stable  in  town,  where  they  called  him  'The 
Lamb,'  and  never  let  him  out  except  at  night  and  to 
strangers.  My  companion,  who  knew  and  had  broken 
most  of  the  horses,  looked  at  the  ragged  hammer-head 
as  it  rose,  and  said  quietly : 

'Nice  beast,  Man-eater,  if  he  gets  the  chance — see  his 
eye.     Kicker,  too — see  his  hocks.     Western  horse.' 

The  animal  lumbered  up,  snuffling  and  grunting. 
His  feet  showed  that  he  had  not  worked  for  weeks  and 
weeks,  and  our  creatures  drew  together  significantly. 

'As  usual,'  he  said,  with  an  underhung  sneer — 'bowin' 
your  heads  before  the  Oppressor,  that  comes  to  spend 
his  leisure  gloatin'  over  you.' 

*  Mine's  done,'  said  the  Deacon;  he  licked  up  the  rem- 
nant of  his  salt,  dropped  his  nose  in  his  master's  hand, 
and  sang  a  little  grace  all  to  himself.  The  Deacon  has 
the  most  enchanting  manners  of  any  one  I  know. 

'An'  fawnin'  on  them  for  what  is  your  inalienable 
right.  It's  humiliatin','  said  the  yellow  horse,  sniffing 
to  see  if  he  could  find  a  few  spare  grains. 

'Go  daown  hill,  then,  Boney,'  the  Deacon  replied. 
'Guess  you'll  find  somefin'  to  eat  still,  if  yer  hain't 
hogged  it  all.     You've  ett  more'n  any  three  of  us  to-day 

48 


A  WALKING  DELEGATE 

— an'  day  'fore  that — an'  the  last  two  months — sence 
you've  been  here.' 

'  I  am  not  addressin'  myself  to  the  young  an'  imma- 
ture. I  am  speakin'  to  those  whose  opinion  an'  experi- 
ence commands  respect.' 

I  saw  Rod  raise  his  head  as  though  he  were  about  to 
make  a  remark;  then  he  dropped  it  again,  and  stood 
three-cornered,  like  a  plough-horse.  Rod  can  cover  his 
mile  in  a  shade  under  three  minutes  on  an  ordinary  road 
to  an  ordinary  buggy.  He  is  tremendously  powerful 
behind,  but,  like  most  Hambletonians,  he  grows  a  trifle 
sullen  as  he  gets  older.  No  one  can  love  Rod  very  much ; 
but  no  one  can  help  respecting  him. 

'I  wish  to  wake  those,'  the  yellow  horse  went  on,  *to 
an  abidin'  sense  o'  their  wrongs  an'  their  injuries  an' 
their  outrages.' 

*Haow's  that?'  said  Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus, 
dreamily.  He  thought  Boney  was  talking  of  some  kind 
of  feed. 

'An'  when  I  say  outrages  and  injuries' — Boney  waved 
his  tail  furiously — '  I  mean  'em,  too.  Great  Oats !  That's 
just  what  I  do  mean,  plain  an'  straight.' 

*Thegentleman  talks  quiteearnest,' said  Tuck  themare, 
to  Nip,  her  brother.  '  There's  no  doubt  thinkin'  broadens 
the  horizons  o'  the  mind.     His  language  is  right  lofty.' 

'  Hesh,  sis,'  Nip  answered.  *  He  hain't  widened  nothin' 
'cep'  the  circle  he's  ett  in  pasture.  They  feed  words  fer 
beddin'  where  he  comes  from.' 

'It's  elegant  talkin',  though,'  Tuck  returned,  with  an 
unconvinced  toss  of  her  pretty,  lean  little  head. 

The  yellow  horse  heard  her,  and  struck  an  attitude 
which  he  meant  to  be  extremely  impressive.  It  made 
him  look  as  though  he  had  been  badly  stuffed. 

49 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'Now  I  ask  you — I  ask  you  without  prejudice  an' 
without  favour — what  has  Man  the  Oppressor  ever  done 
for  you?  Are  you  not  inahenably  entitled  to  the  free 
air  o'  heaven,  blowin'  acrost  this  boundless  prairie?' 

'Hev  ye  ever  wintered  here?'  said  the  Deacon,  mer- 
rily, while  the  others  snickered.     '  It's  kinder  cool.' 

'Not  yet,'  said  Boney.  'I  come  from  the  boundless 
confines  o'  Kansas,  where  the  noblest  of  our  kind  have 
their  abidin'-place  among  the  sunflowers  on  the  thres- 
hold o'  the  settin'  sun  in  his  glory.' 

'An'  they  sent  you  ahead  as  a  sample?'  said  Rick, 
with  an  amused  quiver  of  his  long,  beautifully-groomed 
tail,  as  thick  and  as  fine  and  as  wavy  as  a  quadroon's 
back  hair. 

'Kansas,  sir,  needs  no  adver-tise-ment.  Her  native 
sons  rely  on  themselves  an'  their  native  sires.     Yes,  sir.' 

Then  Tweezy  lifted  up  his  wise  and  polite  old  face. 
His  affliction  makes  him  bashful  as  a  rule,  but  he  is  ever 
the  most  courteous  of  horses. 

'Excuse  me,  suh,'  he  said  slowly,  'but,  unless  I  have 
been  misinfohmed,  most  of  your  prominent  siahs,  suh, 
are  impo'ted  from  Kentucky;  an'  I'm  from  Paduky.' 

There  was  the  least  little  touch  of  pride  in  the  last 
words. 

'Any  horse  dat  knows  beans,'  said  Muldoon,  suddenly 
(he  had  been  standing  with  his  hairy  chin  on  Tweezy's 
broad  quarters),  'gets  outer  Kansas  'fore  dey  crip  his 
shoes.  I  blew  in  dere  frum  loway  in  de  days  o'  me 
youth  an'  innocence,  and  I  wuz  grateful  when  dey 
boxed  me  fer  N'  York.  You  can't  tell  me  anything 
about  Kansas  I  don't  wanter  fergit.  De  Belt  Line 
stables  ain't  no  Hoffman  House,  but  dey're  Vanderbilt's 
'longside  o'  Kansas.' 

50 


A  WALKING  DELEGATE 

*What  the  horses  o'  Kansas  think  to-day,  the  horses 
of  America  will  think  to-morrow;  an'  I  tell  you  that 
when  the  horses  of  America  rise  in  their  might,  the  day 
o'  the  Oppressor  is  ended.' 

There  was  a  pause,  till  Rick  said,  with  a  little  grunt: 

'  Ef  you  put  it  that  way,  every  one  of  us  has  riz  in  his 
might,  'cep'  Marcus,  mebbe.  Marky,  'j  ever  rise  in  yer 
might?' 

'Nope,'  said  Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus,  thought- 
fully quidding  over  a  mouthful  of  grass.  '  I  seen  a  heap 
o'  fools  try,  though.' 

'You  admit  that  you  riz?'  said  the  Kansas  horse, 
excitedly.  'Then  why — why  in  Kansas  did  you  ever 
go  under  again?' 

'Horse  can't  walk  on  his  hind  legs  all  the  time,'  said 
the  Deacon. 

'Not  when  he's  jerked  over  on  his  back  'fore  he  knows 
what  fetched  him.  We've  all  done  it,  Boney,'  said 
Rick.  'Nip  an'  Tuck,  they  tried  it,  spite  o'  what  the 
Deacon  told  'em;  and  the  Deacon,  he  tried  it,  spite  o' 
what  me  an'  Rod  told  him;  an'  me  an'  Rod  tried  it, 
spite  o'  what  Grandee  told  us;  an'  I  guess  Grandee  he 
tried  it,  spite  o'  what  his  dam  told  him.  It's  the  same 
old  circus  from  generation  to  generation.  'Colt  can't 
see  why  he's  called  on  to  back.  Same  old  rearin'  on  end 
— straight  up.  Same  old  feelin'  that  you've  bested  'em 
this  time.  Same  old  little  yank  at  yer  mouth  when 
you're  up  good  an'  tall.  Same  old  Pegasus-act,  won- 
derin'  where  you'll  'light.  Same  old  wop  when  you  hit 
the  dirt  with  your  head  where  your  tail  should  be,  and 
your  in'ards  shook  up  like  a  bran-mash.  Same  old 
.voice  in  your  ear,  "Waal,  ye  little  fool,  an'  what  did  you 
reckon  to  make  by  that?"     We're  through  with  risin' 

51 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

in  our  might  on  this  farm.  We  go  to  pole  er  single,  ac- 
cordin'  ez  we're  hitched.' 

'An'  Man  the  Oppressor  sets  an'  gloats  over  you, 
same  as  he's  settin'  now.  Hain't  that  been  your  ex- 
perience, madam?' 

This  last  remark  was  addressed  to  Tedda,  and  any  one 
could  see  with  half  an  eye  that  poor,  old,  anxious,  fidgety 
Tedda,  stamping  at  the  flies,  must  have  left  a  wild  and 
tumultuous  3^outh  behind  her. 

'  'Pends  on  the  man,'  she  answered,  shifting  from  one 
foot  to  the  other,  and  addressing  herself  to  the  home 
horses.  'They  abused  me  dreffle  when  I  was  young.  I 
guess  I  was  sperrity  an'  nervous  some,  but  they  didn't 
allow  for  that.  'Twas  in  Monroe  County,  Noo  York, 
an'  sence  then  till  I  come  here,  I've  run  away  with  more 
men  than  'u'd  fill  a  boardin'-house.  Why,  the  man 
that  sold  me  here  he  says  to  the  boss,  s'  he:  "Mind,  now, 
I've  warned  you.  'Twon't  be  none  of  my  fault  if  she 
sheds  you  daown  the  road.  Don't  you  drive  her  in  a 
top-buggy,  ner  'thout  winkers,"  s'  he,  "ner  'thout  this 
bit,  ef  you  look  to  come  home  behind  her."  'N'  the 
fust  thing  the  boss  did  was  to  git  the  top-buggy.' 

'Can't  say  as  I  like  top-buggies,'  said  Rick;  'they 
don't  balance  good.' 

*  'Suit  me  to  a  harr,'  said  Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus. 
'  Top-buggy  means  the  baby's  in  behind,  an'  I  kin  stop 
while  she  gathers  the  pretty  flowers — ^yes,  an'  pick  a 
maouthful,  too.  The  women-folk  all  say  I  hev  to  be 
humoured,  an' — I  don't  kerry  things  to  the  sweatin'- 
point.' 

*  'Course  I've  no  pre-ju-dice  against  a  top-buggy  s' 
long's  I  can  see  it,*  Tedda  went  on  quickly.  '  It's  ha'f- 
seein'  the  pesky  thing  bobbin'  an'  balancin'  behind  the 

52 


A  WALKING  DELEGATE 

winkers  gets  on  my  nerves.  Then  the  boss  looked  at 
the  bit  they'd  sold  with  me,  an'  s'  he:  "Jiminy  Christ- 
mas! This  'u'd  make  a  clothes-h:rse  stan'  'n  end!" 
Then  he  gave  me  a  plain  bar  bit,  an'  fitted  it  's  if  there 
was  some  feelin'  to  my  maouth.' 

'Hain't  ye  got  any.  Miss  Tedda?'  said  Tuck,  who  has 
a  mouth  like  velvet,  and  knows  it. 

'  Might  'a'  had,  Miss  Tuck,  but  I've  forgot.  Then  he 
gave  me  an  open  bridle,^ — my  style's  an  open  bridle — an' 
— I  dunno  as  I  ought  to  tell  this  by  rights — he  give — me 
— a  kiss.' 

'My!'  said  Tuck,  'I  can't  tell  fer  the  shoes  o'  me  what 
makes  some  men  so  fresh.' 

'Pshaw,  sis,'  said  Nip,  'what's  the  sense  in  actin'  so? 
You  git  a  kiss  reg'lar's  hitchin'-up  time.' 

'Well,  you  needn't  tell,  smarty,'  said  Tuck,  with  a 
squeal  and  a  kick. 

'I'd  heard  o'  kisses,  o'  course,'  Tedda  went  on,  'but 
they  hadn't  come  my  way  specially.  I  don't  mind  tell- 
in'  I  was  that  took  aback  at  that  man's  doin's  he  might 
ha'  lit  fire-crackers  on  my  saddle.  Then  we  went  out 
jest's  if  a  kiss  was  nothin',  an'  I  wasn't  three  strides  into 
my  gait  'fore  I  felt  the  boss  knoo  his  business,  an'  was 
trustin'  me.  So  I  studied  to  please  him,  an'  he  never 
took  the  whip  from  the  dash — a  whip  drives  me  nlumb 
distracted — an'  the  upshot  was  that — waal,  I've  come 
up  the  Back  Pasture  to-day,  an'  the  coupe's  tipped 
clear  over  twice,  an'  I've  waited  till  'twuz  fixed  each 
time.  You  kin  judge  for  yourselves.  I  don't  set  up  to 
be  no  better  than  my  neighbours, — specially  with  my 
tail  snipped  off  the  way  'tis, — but  I  want  you  all  to  know 
Tedda's  quit  fightin'  in  harness  or  out  of  it,  'cep'  when 
there's  a  born  fool  in  the  pasture,  stuffin'  his  stummick 

53 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

with  board  that  ain't  rightly  hisn,  'cause  he  hain't  earned 
it.' 

'Meanin'  me,  madam?'  said  the  yellow  horse. 

'Ef  the  shoe  fits,  clinch  it,'  said  Tedda,  snorting.  'I 
named  no  names,  though,  to  be  sure,  some  folks  are  mean 
enough  an'  greedy  enough  to  do  'thout  'em.' 

'There's  a  deal  to  l^e  forgiven  to  ignorance,'  said  the 
yellow  horse,  with  an  ugly  look  in  his  blue  eye. 

'Seemin'ly,  yes;  or  some  folks  'u'd  ha'  been  kicked 
raound  the  pasture  'bout  onct  a  minute  sence  they  came 
— board  er  no  board.' 

'But  what  you  do  not  understand,  if  you  will  excuse 
me,  madam,  is  that  the  whole  principle  o'  servitood, 
which  includes  keep  an'  feed,  starts  from  a  radically 
false  basis;  an'  I  am  proud  to  say  that  me  an'  the  major- 
ity o'  the  horses  o'  Kansas  think  the  entire  concern 
should  be  relegated  to  the  limbo  of  exploded  supersti- 
tions. I  say  we're  too  progressive  for  that.  I  say 
we're  too  enlightened  for  that.  'Twas  good  enough's 
long's  we  didn't  think,  but  now — but  naow — a  new 
loominary  has  arisen  on  the  horizon!' 

'Meanin'  you?'  said  the  Deacon. 

'The  horses  o'  Kansas  are  behind  me  with  their  mul- 
titoodinous  thunderin'  hoofs,  an'  we  say,  simply  but 
grandly,  that  we  take  our  stand  with  all  four  feet  on  the 
inalienable  rights  of  the  horse,  pure  and  simple, — the 
high-toned  child  o'  nature,  fed  by  the  same  wavin'  grass, 
cooled  by  the  same  ripplin'  brook, — yes,  an'  warmed 
by  the  same  gen'rous  sun  as  falls  impartially  on  the 
outside  an'  the  inside  of  the  pampered  machine  o'  the 
trottin'-track,  or  the  bloated  coupe-horses  o'  these 
yere  Eastern  cities.  Are  we  not  the  same  flesh  and 
blood?' 

54 


A  WALKING  DELEGATE 

'Not  by  a  bushel  an'  a  half,'  said  the  Deacon,  under 
his  breatli.     '  Grandee  never  was  in  Kansas.' 

'My!  Ain't  that  elegant,  though,  abaout  the  wavin' 
grass  an'  the  ripplin'  brooks?'  Tuck  whispered  in  Nip's 
ear.     'The  gentleman's  real  convincin',  I  think.' 

*I  say  we  are  the  same  flesh  an'  blood!  Are  we  to  be 
separated,  horse  from  horse,  by  the  artificial  barriers 
of  a  trottin'-record,  or  are  we  to  look  down  upon  each 
other  on  the  strength  o'  the  gifts  o'  nature — an  extry 
inch  below  the  knee,  or  slightly  more  powerful  quarters? 
What's  the  use  o'  them  advantages  to  you?  Man  the 
Oppressor  comes  along,  an'  sees  you're  likely  an'  good- 
lookin',  an'  grinds  you  to  the  face  o'  the  earth.  W^hat 
for?  For  his  own  pleasure:  for  his  own  convenience! 
Young  an'  old,  black  an'  bay,  white  an'  gray,  there's  no 
distinctions  made  between  us.  We're  ground  up  to- 
gether under  the  remorseless  teeth  o'  the  engines  of 
oppression!' 

'Guess  his  brichin'  must  ha'  broke  goin'  daown-hill,' 
said  the  Deacon.  'Slippery  road,  maybe,  an'  the  buggy 
come  outer  him,  an'  he  didn't  know  'nough  to  hold  back. 
That  don't  feel  like  teeth,  though.  Maybe  he  busted  a 
shaft,  an'  it  pricked  him.' 

'An'  I  come  to  you  from  Kansas,  wavin'  the  tail  o' 
friendship  to  all  an'  sundry,  an'  in  the  name  of  the  un- 
counted millions  o'  pure-minded  high-toned  horses  now 
strugglin'  toward  the  light  o'  freedom,  I  say  to  you,  rub 
noses  with  us  in  our  sacred  an'  holy  cause.  The  power 
is  yourn.  Without  you,  I  say,  Man  the  Oppressor  can- 
not move  himself  from  place  to  place.  Without  you  he 
cannot  reap,  he  cannot  sow,  he  cannot  plough.' 

'Mighty  odd  place,  Kansas!'  said  Marcus  Aurelius 
Antoninus.     'Seemin'ly  they  reap  in  the  spring  an' 

55 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

plough  in  the  fall.    'Guess  it's  right  fer  them,  but  'twould 
make  me  kinder  giddy.' 

*The  produc's  of  your  untirin'  industry  would  rot  on 
the  ground  if  you  did  not  weakly  consent  to  help  them. 
Let  'em  rot,  I  say !  Let  him  call  you  to  the  stables  in 
vain  an'  nevermore  I  Let  him  shake  his  ensnarin'  oats 
under  your  nose  in  vain !  Let  the  Brahmas  roost  in  the 
buggA',  an'  the  rats  run  riot  round  the  reaper!  Let  him 
walk  on  his  two  hind  feet  till  they  blame  well  drop  off! 
Win  no  more  soul-destroyin'  races  for  his  pleasure! 
Then,  an'  not  till  then,  will  Man  the  Oppressor  know 
where  he's  at.  Quit  workin',  fellows-sufferers  an'  slaves! 
Kick!  Rear!  Plunge!  Lie  down  on  the  shafts,  an' 
woller!  Smash  an'  destroy!  The  conflict  will  be  but 
short,  an'  the  victory  is  certain.  After  that  we  can 
press  our  inalienable  rights  to  eight  quarts  o'  oats  a  day, 
two  good  blankets,  an'  a  fly-net  an'  the  best  o'  stablin'.' 

The  yellow  horse  shut  his  yellow  teeth  with  a  triumph- 
ant snap;  and  Tuck  said,  with  a  sigh:  'Seems  's  if  some- 
thin'  ought  to  be  done.  Don't  seem  right,  somehow, — 
oppressin'  us  an'  all, — to  my  way  o'  thinkin'.' 

Said  Muldoon,  in  a  far-away  and  sleepy  voice:  'Who 
in  Vermont's  goin'  to  haul  de  inalienable  oats?  Dey 
weigh  like  Sam  Hill,  an'  sixty  bushel  at  dat  allowance 
ain't  goin'  to  last  free  weeks  here.  An'  dere's  de  winter 
hay  for  five  mont's ! ' 

'We  can  settle  those  minor  details  when  the  great 
cause  is  won,'  said  the  yellow  horse.  'Let  us  return 
simply  but  grandly  to  our  inalienable  rights — the  right 
o'  freedom  on  these  yere  verdant  hills,  an'  no  invijjus 
distinctions  o'  track  an'  pedigree.' 

*  What  in  stables  'jer  call  an  invijjus  distinction?'  said 
the  Deacon,  stiffly. 

56 


A  WALKING  DELEGATE 

'Per  one  thing,  bein'  a  bloated,  pampered  trotter  jest 
because  you  happen  to  be  raised  that  way,  an'  couldn't 
no  more  help  trottin'  than  eatin'.' 

'Do  ye  know  anythin'  about  trotters?'  said  the  Dea- 
con. 

'I've  seen  'em  trot.  That  was  enough  for  me.  I 
don't  want  to  know  any  more.     Trottin'  's  immoral.' 

'Waal,  I'll  tell  you  this  much.  They  don't  bloat,  an' 
they  don't  pamp — much.  I  don't  hold  out  to  be  no 
trotter  myself,  though  I  am  free  to  say  I  had  hopes  that 
way — onct.  But  I  do  say,  fer  I've  seen  'em  trained, 
that  a  trotter  don't  trot  with  his  feet;  he  trots  with  his 
head ;  an'  he  does  more  work — ef  you  know  what  that  is 
^n  a  week  than  you  er  your  sire  ever  done  in  all  your 
lives.  He's  everlastingly  at  it,  a  trotter  is;  an'  when  he 
isn't,  he's  studyin'  haow.  You  seen  'em  trot?  Much 
you  hev!  You  was  hitched  to  a  rail,  back  o'  the  stand, 
in  a  buckboard  with  a  soap-box  nailed  on  the  slats,  an'  a 
frowy  buff'lo  atop,  while  your  man  peddled  rum  for 
lemonade  to  little  boys  as  thought  they  was  actin'  manly, 
till  you  was  both  run  off  the  track  and  jailed — you  in- 
toed,  shufflin',  sway-backed,  wind-suckin'  skate,  you!' 

'Don't  get  het  up,  Deacon,'  said  Tweezy,  quietly. 
'Now,  suh,  would  you  consider  a  fox-trot,  an'  single- 
foot,  an'  rack,  an'  pace,  an'  amble,  distinctions  not  worth 
distinguishin'?  I  assuah  you,  gentlemen,  there  was  a 
time  befo'  I  was  afflicted  in  my  hip,  if  you'll  pardon  me, 
Miss  Tuck,  when  I  was  quite  celebrated  in  Paduky  for 
all  those  gaits;  an'  in  my  opinion  the  Deacon's  co'rect 
when  he  says  that  a  ho'se  of  any  position  in  society  gets 
his  gaits  by  his  haid,  an'  not  by — his,  ah,  limbs.  Miss 
Tuck.  I  reckon  I'm  very  little  good  now,  but  I'm  re- 
memberin'  the  things  I  used  to  do  befo'  I  took  to  trans- 

57 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

po'tin'  real  estate  with  the  help  and  assistance  of  this 
gentleman  here.'     He  looked  at  Miildoon. 

'Invijjus  arterficial  hind-legs!'  said  the  ex-car-horse, 
with  a  grunt  of  contempt.  'On  de  Belt  Line  we  don't 
reckon  no  horse  wiith  his  keep  'less  he  kin  switch  de  car 
off  de  track,  run  her  round  on  de  cobbles,  an'  dump  her 
in  ag'in  ahead  o'  de  truck  what's  blockin'  him.  Dere's 
a  way  o'  swinging  yer  quarters  when  de  drivers  says, 
"Yank  her  out,  boys!"  dat  takes  a  year  to  learn.  Onct 
yer  git  outer  it,  youse  kin  yank  a  cable-car  outer  a  man- 
hole. I  don't  advertise  myself  for  no  circus-horse,  but 
I  knew  dat  trick  better  than  most,  an'  dey  was  good  to 
me  in  de  stables,  fer  I  saved  time  on  de  Belt — an'  time's 
what  dey  hunt  in  N'  York.' 

'But  the  simple  child  o'  nature — '  the  yellow  horse 
began. 

'Oh,  go  an'  unscrew  your  splints!  You're  talkin' 
through  yer  bandages,'  said  Muldoon,  with  a  horse- 
laugh. 'Dere  ain't  no  loose-box  for  de  simple  child  o' 
nature  on  de  Belt  Line,  wid  de  "Paris"  comin'  in  an'  de 
"Teutonic"  goin'  out,  an'  de  trucks  an'  de  coupes  sayin' 
things,  an'  de  heavy  freight  movin'  down  fer  de  Boston 
boat  'bout  free  o'clock  of  an  August  afternoon,  in  de 
middle  of  a  hot  wave  when  de  fat  Kanucks  an'  Western 
horses  drops  dead  on  de  block.  De  simple  child  o' 
nature  had  better  chase  himself  inter  de  water.  Every 
man  at  de  end  of  his  lines  is  mad  or  loaded  or  silly,  an' 
de  cop's  madder  an'  loadeder  an'  sillier  than  de  rest. 
Dey  all  take  it  outer  de  horses.  Dere's  no  wavin'  brooks 
ner  ripplin'  grass  on  de  Belt  Line.  Run  her  out  on  de 
cobbles  wid  de  sparks  tlyin',  an'  stop  when  de  cop  slugs 
you  on  de  bone  o'  yer  nose.     Dat's  N'  York;  see? ' 

*I  was  always  told  s'ciety  in  Noo  York  was  dreffle 

58 


A  WALKING  DELEGATE 

refined  an'  high-toned,'  said  Tuck.     'We're  lookin'  to 
go  there  one  o'  these  days,  Nip  an'  me.' 

'Oh,  you  won't  see  no  Belt  business  where  you'll  go, 
miss.  De  man  dat  wants  you'll  want  you  bad,  an'  he'll 
summer  you  on  Long  Island  er  at  Newport,  wid  a  winky- 
pinky  silver  harness  an'  an  English  coachman.  You'll 
make  a  star-hitch,  you  an'  yer  brother,  miss.  But  I 
guess  you  won't  have  no  nice  smooth  bar  bit.  Dey 
checks  'em,  an'  dey  bangs  deir  tails,  an'  dey  bits  'em, 
de  city  folk,  an'  dey  says  it's  English,  ye  know,  and  dey 
darsen't  cut  a  horse  loose  'ca'se  o'  de  cops.  N'  York's 
no  place  fer  a  horse,  'less  he's  on  de  Belt,  an'  can  go 
round  wid  de  boys.  Yusht  I  was  in  de  Fire  Depart- 
ment!' 

'But  did  you  never  stop  to  consider  the  degradin'  ser- 
vitood  of  it  all?'  said  the  yellow  horse. 

'You  don't  stop  on  the  Belt,  cully.  You're  stopped. 
An'  we  was  all  in  de  servitood  business,  man  an'  horse, 
an'  Jimmy  dat  sold  de  papers.  Guess  de  passengers 
weren't  out  to  grass  neither,  by  de  way  dey  acted.  I 
done  my  turn,  an'  I'm  none  o'  Barnum's  crowd;  but  any 
horse  dat's  worked  on  de  Belt  four  years  don't  train  wid 
no  simple  child  o'  nature — not  by  de  whole  length  o'  N' 
York.' 

'But  can  it  be  possible  that  with  your  experience,  and 
at  your  time  of  life,  you  do  not  believe  that  all  horses 
are  free  and  equal?'  said  the  yellow  horse. 

'Not  till  they're  dead,'  Muldoon  answered  quietly. 
'An'  den  it  depends  on  de  gross  total  o'  buttons  an' 
mucilage  dey  gits  outer  youse  at  Barren  Island.' 

'They  tell  me  you're  a  prominent  philosopher.'  The 
yellow  horse  turned  to  Marcus.  '  Can  you  deny  a  basic 
and  pivotal  statement  such  as  this? ' 

59 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'I  don't  deny  anythin','  said  Marcus  Aurelius  An- 
toninus, cautiously;  'but  ef  you  ast  me,  I  should  say 
'twuz  more  different  sorts  o'  clipped  oats  of  a  lie  than 
anythin'  I've  had  my  teeth  into  sence  I  wuz  foaled.' 

'  Are  you  a  horse? '  said  the  yellow  horse. 

'Them  that  knows  me  best  'low  I  am.' 

'Ain't  I  a  horse?' 

'Yep;  one  kind  of.' 

'Then  ain't  you  an'  me  equal?' 

*How  fer  kin  you  go  in  a  day  to  a  loaded  buggy,  draw- 
in'  five  hundred  pounds? '  Marcus  asked  carelessly. 

'That  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  case,'  the  yellow 
horse  answered  excitedly. 

'There's  nothing  I  know  hez  more  to  do  with  the 
case,'  Marcus  replied. 

*Kin  ye  yank  a  full  car  outer  de  tracks  ten  times  in  de 
mornin'  ? '  said  Muldoon. 

*  Kin  ye  go  to  Keene — forty-two  mile  in  an  afternoon 
— with  a  mate,'  said  Rick,  'an'  turn  out  bright  an'  early 
next  mornin'?' 

'Was  there  evah  any  time  in  your  careah,  suh — I  am 
not  referrin'  to  the  present  circumstances,  but  our 
mutual  glorious  past — when  you  could  carry  a  pretty 
girl  to  market  hahnsome,  an'  let  her  knit  all  the  way  on 
account  o'  the  smoothness  o'  the  motion?'  said  Tweezy. 

'Kin  you  keep  your  feet  through  the  West  River 
Bridge,  with  the  narrer-gage  comin'  in  on  one  side,  an' 
the  Montreal  flyer  the  other,  an'  the  old  bridge  teeterin' 
between?'  said  the  Deacon.  'Kin  you  put  your  nose 
down  on  the  cow-catcher  of  a  locomotive  when  you're 
waitin'  at  the  depot  an'  let  'em  play  "Curfew  shall  not 
ring  to-night"  with  the  big  brass  bell?' 

*Kin  you  hold  back  when  the  brichin'  breaks?     Kin 

60 


A  WALKING  DELEGATE 

you  stop  fer  orders  when  your  nigh  hind  leg's  over  your 
trace  an'  ye  feel  good  of  a  frosLy  mornin*?'  said  Nij). 
who  had  only  learned  that  trick  last  winter,  and  thought 
it  was  the  crown  of  horsely  knowledge. 

'What's  the  use  o'  talkin'?'  said  Tedda  Gabler,  scorn- 
fully.    'What  kin  ye  do?' 

'  I  rely  on  my  simple  rights — the  inalienable  rights  o' 
my  unfettered  horsehood.  An'  I  am  proud  to  say  I 
have  never,  since  my  first  shoes,  lowered  myself  to  obey- 
in'  the  will  o'  man.' 

'Must  ha'  had  a  heap  o'  whips  broke  over  yer  yaller 
back,'  said  Tedda.     ' Hev  ye  found  it  paid  any? ' 

'  Sorrer  has  been  my  portion  since  the  day  I  was  foaled. 
Blows  an'  boots  an'  whips  an'  insults — injury,  outrage, 
an'  oppression.  I  would  not  endoor  the  degradin'  badges 
o'  servitood  that  connect  us  with  the  buggj^  an'  the 
farm-wagon.' 

'It's  amazin'  difficult  to  draw  a  buggy  'thout  traces 
er  collar  er  breast-strap  er  somefin','  said  Marcus.  'A 
Power-machine  for  sawin'  wood  is  'most  the  only  thing 
there's  no  straps  to.  I've  helped  saw's  much  as  three 
cord  in  an  afternoon  in  a  Power-machine.  Slep',  too, 
most  o'  the  time,  I  did;  but  'tain't  half  as  inte-res-tin' 
ez  goin'  daown-taown  in  the  Concord.' 

'Concord  don't  hender  you  goin'  to  sleep  any,'  said 
Nip.  'My  throat-lash!  D'  you  remember  when  you 
lay  down  in  the  sharves  last  week,  waitin'  at  the 
piazza? ' 

'Pshaw!  That  didn't  hurt  the  sharves.  They  wuz 
good  an'  wide,  an'  I  lay  down  keerful.  The  folks  kep' 
me  hitched  up  nigh  an  hour  'fore  they  started;  an'  larfed 
— why,  they  all  but  lay  down  themselves  with  larfm'. 
Say,  Boney,  if  you've  got  to  be  hitched  to  anything 

61 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

that  goes  on  wheels,  you've  got  to  be  hitched  with  some- 
fm'.' 

'  Go  an'  jine  a  circus,'  said  Muldoon, '  an'  walk  on  your 
hind  legs.  All  de  horses  dat  knows  too  much  to  work  [he 
pronounced  it  'woik,'  New  York  fashion]  jine  de  circus.' 

'  I  am  not  sayin'  anythin'  again'  work,'  said  the  yellow 
horse;  'work  is  the  finest  thing  in  the  world.' 

'Seems  too  fme  fer  some  of  us,'  Tedda  snorted. 

'I  only  ask  that  each  horse  should  work  for  himself, 
an'  enjoy  the  profit  of  his  labours.  Let  him  work  in- 
telligently, an'  not  as  a  machine.' 

'There  ain't  no  horse  that  works  like  a  machine,' 
Marcus  began. 

'There's  no  way  o'  workin'  that  doesn't  mean  goin'  to 
pole  or  single — they  never  put  me  in  the  Power-machine 
— er  under  saddle,'  said  Rick. 

'Oh,  shucks!  We're  talkin'  same  ez  we  graze,'  said 
Nip,  'raound  an'  raound  in  circles.  Rod,  we  hain't 
heard  from  you  yet,  an'  you've  more  knowhow  than  any 
span  here.' 

Rod,  the  off-horse  of  the  pair,  had  been  standing  with 
one  hip  lifted,  like  a  tired  cow;  and  you  could  only  tell 
by  the  quick  flutter  of  the  haw  across  his  eye,  from  time 
to  time,  that  he  was  paying  any  attention  to  the  argu- 
ment. He  thrust  his  jaw  out  sidewise,  as  his  habit  is 
when  he  pulls,  and  changed  his  leg.  His  voice  was  hard 
and  heavy,  and  his  ears  were  close  to  his  big,  plain 
Hambletonian  head. 

'How  old  are  you?'  he  said  to  the  yellow  horse. 

'Nigh  thirteen,  I  guess.' 

'Mean  age;  ugly  age;  I'm  gettin'  that  way  myself. 
How  long  hev  ye  been  pawin'  this  fire-fanged  stable 
litter?' 

62 


A  WALKING  DELEGATE 

*If  you  mean  my  principles,  I've  held  'em  since  I  was 
three.' 

' Mean  age;  ugly  age;  teeth  give  heaps  o'  trouble  then. 
Set  a  colt  to  actin'  crazy  fer  a  while.  You've  kep'  it  up, 
seemin'ly.  D'ye  talk  much  to  your  neighbours  fer  a 
steady  thing?' 

'I  uphold  the  principles  o'  the  Cause  wherever  I  am 
pastured.' 

'Done  a  heap  o'  good,  I  guess?' 

'I  am  proud  to  say  I  have  taught  a  few  of  my  com- 
panions the  principles  o'  freedom  an'  liberty.' 

'  Meanin'  they  ran  away  er  kicked  when  they  got  the 
chanst?' 

'I  was  talkin'  in  the  abstrac',  an'  not  in  the  concrete. 
My  teachin's  educated  them.' 

'What  a  horse,  specially  a  young  horse,  hears  in  the 
abstrac',  he's  liable  to  do  in  the  Concord.  You  wuz 
handled  late,  I  presoom.' 

'Four,  risin'  five.' 

'That's  where  the  trouble  began.  Driv'  by  a  woman, 
like  ez  not — eh? ' 

'Not  fer  long,'  said  the  yellow  horse,  with  a  snap  of 
his  teeth. 

'Spilled  her?' 

'  I  heerd  she  never  drove  again.' 

'Any  children?' 

'Buckboards  full  of  'em.' 

'Men  too?' 

'  I  have  shed  consid'ble  men  in  my  time.* 

'Bykickin'?' 

'Any  way  that  come  along.  Fallin'  back  over  the 
dash  is  as  handy  as  most.' 

'They  must  be  turr'ble  afraid  o'  you  daown-taown? ' 

63 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'  They've  sent  me  here  to  get  rid  o'  me.  I  guess  they 
spend  their  time  talkin'  over  my  campaigns.' 

'  I  wanter  know ! ' 

'Yes,  sir.  Now,  all  you  gentlemen  have  asked  me 
what  I  can  do.  I'll  just  show  you.  See  them  two 
fellers  lyin'  down  by  the  buggy? ' 

'Yep;  one  of  'em  owns  me.  T'other  broke  me,'  said 
Rod. 

'Get  'em  out  here  in  the  open,  an'  I'll  show  you  some- 
thing. Lemme  hide  back  o'  you  peoples,  so's  they  won't 
see  what  I'm  at.' 

'Meanin'  ter  kill  'em?'  Rod  drawled.  There  was  a 
shudder  of  horror  through  the  others;  but  the  yellow 
horse  never  noticed. 

'I'll  catch  'em  by  the  back  o'  the  neck,  an'  pile-drive 
'em  a  piece.  They  can  suit  'emselves  about  livin'  when 
I'm  through  with  'em.' 

'Shouldn't  wonder  ef  they  did,'  said  Rod. 

The  yellow  horse  had  hidden  himself  very  cleverly 
behind  the  others  as  they  stood  in  a  group,  and  was 
swaying  his  head  close  to  the  ground  with  a  curious 
scythe-like  motion,  looking  sideways  out  of  his  wicked 
eyes.  You  can  never  mistake  a  man-eater  getting  ready 
to  knock  a  man  down.  We  had  had  one  to  pasture  the 
year  before. 

'See  that?'  said  my  companion,  turning  over  on  the 
pine-needles.  *Nice  for  a  woman  walking  'cross  lots, 
wouldn't  it  be?' 

'Bring  'em  out!*  said  the  yellow  horse,  hunching  his 
sharp  back.  'There's  no  chance  among  them  tall  trees. 
Bring  out  the — oh !     Ouch ! ' 

It  was  a  right-and-left  kick  from  Muldoon.  I  had  no 
idea  that  the  old  car-horse  could  lift  so  quickly.     Both 

64 


ti 


A  WALKING  DELEGATE 

blows  caught  the  yellow  horse  full  and  fair  in  the  ribs, 
and  knocked  the  breath  out  of  him. 

'What's  that  for?'  he  said  angrily,  when  he  recovered 
himself;  but  I  noticed  he  did  not  draw  any  nearer  to 
Muldoon  than  was  necessary. 

Muldoon  never  answered,  but  discoursed  to  himself 
in  the  whining  grunt  that  he  uses  when  he  is  going  down- 
hill in  front  of  a  heavy  load.  We  call  it  singing;  but  I 
think  it's  something  much  worse,  really.  The  yellow 
horse  blustered  and  squealed  a  little,  and  at  last  said 
that,  if  it  was  a  horse-fly  that  had  stung  Muldoon,  he 
would  accept  an  apology. 

'You'll  get  it,'  said  Muldoon,  'in  de  sweet  by-and-by 
— all  de  apology  you've  any  use  for.  Excuse  me  inter- 
ruptin'  you,  Mr.  Rod,  but  I'm  like  Tweezy — I've  a 
Southern  drawback  in  me  hind  legs.' 

'Naow,  I  want  you  all  here  to  take  notice,  and  you'll 
learn  something,'  Rod  went  on.  'This  yaller-backed 
skate  comes  to  our  pastur' — ' 

'Not  havin'  paid  his  board,'  put  in  Tedda. 

'Not  havin'  earned  his  board,  an'  talks  smooth  to  us 
abaout  ripplin'  brooks  an'  wavin'  grass,  an'  his  high- 
toned,  pure-souled  horsehood,  which  don't  hender  him 
sheddin'  women  an'  children,  an'  fallin'  over  the  dash 
onter  men.  You  heard  his  talk,  an'  you  thought  it 
mighty  fme,  some  o'  you.' 

Tuck  looked  guilty  here,  but  she  did  not  say  anything. 

'Bit  by  bit  he  goes  on  ez  you  have  heard.' 

'  I  was  talkin'  in  the  abstrac','  said  the  yellow  horse,  in 
an  altered  voice. 

'Abstrac'  be  switched!  Ez  I've  said,  it's  this  yer 
blamed  abstrac'  business  that  makes  the  young  uns  cut 
up  in  the  Concord;  an'  abstrac'  or  no  abstrac',  he  crep' 

65 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

on  an'  on  till  he  comes  to  killin'  plain  an'  straight — 
killin'  them  as  never  done  him  no  harm,  jest  beca'se 
they  owned  horses.' 

'An'  knowed  how  to  manage  'em,'  said  Tedda.  'That 
makes  it  worse.' 

'Waal,  he  didn't  kill  'em,  anyway,'  said  Marcus. 
'He'd  ha'  been  half  killed  if  he  had  tried.' 

'Makes  no  differ,'  Rod  answered.  'He  meant  to;  an' 
ef  he  hadn't — s'pose  we  want  the  Back  Pasture  turned 
into  a  biffm'-ground  on  our  only  day  er  rest?  'S'pose 
we  want  our  men  walkin'  round  with  bits  er  lead  pipe 
an'  a  twitch,  an'  their  hands  full  o'  stones  to  throw  at  us, 
same's  if  we  wuz  hogs  er  hooky  keows?  More'n  that, 
leavin'  out  Tedda  here — an'  I  guess  it's  more  her  maouth 
than  her  manners  stands  in  her  light — there  ain't  a 
horse  on  this  farm  that  ain't  a  woman's  horse,  an'  proud 
of  it.  An'  this  yer  bog-spavined  Kansas  sunflower  goes 
up  an'  daown  the  length  o'  the  country,  traded  off  and 
traded  on,  boastin'  as  he's  shed  women — an'  children. 
I  don't  say  as  a  woman  in  a  buggy  ain't  a  fool.  I  don't 
say  as  she  ain't  the  lastin'est  kind  er  fool,  ner  I  don't  say 
a  child  ain't  worse — spattin'  the  lines  an'  standin'  up  an' 
hollerin' — but  I  do  say,  'tain't  none  of  our  business  to 
shed  'em  daown  the  road.' 

'We  don't,'  said  the  Deacon.  'The  baby  tried  to  git 
some  o'  my  tail  for  a  sooveneer  last  fall  when  I  was  up 
to  the  haouse,  an'  I  didn't  kick.  Boney's  talk  ain't 
goin'  to  hurt  us  any.     We  ain't  colts.' 

'Thet's  what  you  think.  Bimeby  you  git  into  a 
tight  corner,  'Lection  day  er  Valley  Fair,  like's  not, 
daown-taown,  when  you're  all  het  an'  lathery,  an'  pes- 
tered with  flies,  an'  thirsty,  an'  sick  o'  bein'  worked  in 
an'  aout   'tween  buggies.    Then  somethin'  whispers 

66 


A  WALKING  DELEGATE 

inside  o'  yer  winkers,  bringin'  up  all  that  talk  abaout 
servitood  an'  inalienable  truck  an'  sech  like,  an'  jest 
then  a  Militia  gun  goes  off,  er  your  wheels  hit,  an' — 
waaJ,  you're  only  another  horse  ez  can't  be  trusted! 
I've  been  there  time  an'  again.  Boys — fer  I've  seen 
you  all  bought  er  broke — on  my  solemn  repitation  fer  a 
three-minute  clip,  I  ain't  givin'  you  no  bran-mash  o' 
my  own  fixin'.  I'm  tellin'  you  my  experiences,  an'  I've 
had  ez  heavy  a  load  an'  ez  high  a  check's  any  horse  here. 
I  wuz  born  with  a  splint  on  my  near  fore  ez  big's  a  wal- 
nut, an'  the  cussed,  three-cornered  Hambletonian  tem- 
per that  sours  up  an'  curdles  daown  ez  you  git  older. 
I've  favoured  my  splint;  even  little  Rick  he  don't  know 
what  it's  cost  me  to  keep  my  end  up  sometimes;  an'  I've 
fit  my  temper  in  stall  an'  harness,  hitched  up  an'  at 
pasture,  till  the  sweat  trickled  off  my  hoofs,  an'  they 
thought  I  wuz  off  condition,  an'  drenched  me.' 

'When  my  affliction  came,'  said  Tweezy,  gently,  'I 
was  very  near  to  losin'  my  manners.  Allow  me  to  ex- 
tend to  you  my  sympathy,  suh.' 

Rick  said  nothing,  but  he  looked  at  Rod  curiously. 
Rick  is  a  sunny-tempered  child  who  never  bears  malice, 
and  I  don't  think  he  quite  understood.  He  gets  his 
temper  from  his  mother,  as  a  horse  should. 

'I've  been  there  too,  Rod,'  said  Tedda.  'Open  con- 
fession's good  for  the  soul,  an'  all  Monroe  County  knows 
I've  had  my  experiences.' 

*  But  if  you  will  excuse  me,  suh,  that  pusson ' — Tweezy 
looked  unspeakable  things  at  the  yellow  horse — 'that 
pusson  who  has  insulted  our  intelligences  comes  from 
Kansas.  An'  what  a  ho'se  of  his  position,  an'  Kansas 
at  that,  says  cannot,  by  any  stretch  of  the  halter,  con- 
cern gentlemen  of  our  position.     There's  no  shadow  of 

67 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

equal'ty,  suh,  not  even  for  one  kick.     He's  beneath  our 
contempt.' 

'Let  him  talk,'  said  Marcus.  'It's  always  inte-res- 
tin'  to  know  what  another  horse  thinks.  It  don't  tech 
us.' 

'An'  he  talks  so,  too,'  said  Tuck.  'I've  never  heard 
anythin'  so  smart  for  a  long  time.' 

Again  Rod  stuck  out  his  jaws  sidewise,  and  went  on 
slowly  as  though  he  were  slugging  on  a  plain  bit  at  the 
end  of  a  thirty-mile  drive : 

'  I  want  you  all  here  ter  understand  thet  ther  ain't  no 
Kansas,  ner  no  Kentucky,  ner  yet  no  Vermont,  in  our 
business.  There's  jest  two  kind  o'  horse  in  the  United 
States — them  ez  can  an'  will  do  their  w^ork  after  bein' 
properly  broke  an'  handled,  an'  them  as  won't.  I'm 
sick  an'  tired  o'  this  everlastin'  tail-switchin'  an'  wicker- 
in'  abaout  one  State  er  another.  A  horse  kin  be  proud 
o'  his  State,  an'  swap  lies  abaout  it  in  stall  or  when  he's 
hitched  to  a  block,  ef  he  keers  to  put  in  fly-time  that 
way;  but  he  hain't  no  right  to  let  that  pride  o'  hisn  inter- 
fere with  his  work,  ner  to  make  it  an  excuse  fer  claimin' 
he's  different.  That's  colt's  talk,  an'  don't  you  fergit 
it,  Tweezy.  An',  Marcus,  you  remember  that  bein'  a 
philosopher,  an'  anxious  to  save  trouble, — fer  you  are — 
don't  excuse  you  from  jumpin'  with  all  your  feet  on 
a  slack-jawed,  crazy  clay-bank  like  Boney  here.  It's 
leavin'  'em  alone  that  gives  'em  their  chance  to  ruin 
colts  an'  kill  folks.  An',  Tuck,  waal,  you're  a  mare 
anyways — but  when  a  horse  comes  along  an'  covers  up 
all  his  talk  o'  killin'  with  ripplin'  brooks,  an'  wavin'  grass, 
an'  eight  quarts  of  oats  a  day  free,  after  killin'  his  man, 
don't  you  be  run  away  with  by  his  yap.  You're  too 
young  an'  too  nervous.' 

68 


A  WALKING  DELEGATE 

'I'll — ril  have  nervous  prostration  sure  ef  there's  a 
fight  here,'  said  Tuck,  who  saw  what  was  in  Rod's  eye; 
'I'm — I'm  that  sympathetic  I'd  run  away  clear  to  next 
caounty.' 

'  Yep ;  I  know  that  kind  o'  sympathy.  Jest  lasts  long 
enough  to  start  a  fuss,  an'  then  lights  aout  to  make  new 
trouble.  I  hain't  been  ten  years  in  harness  fer  nuthin'. 
Naow,  we're  goin'  to  keep  school  with  Boney  fer  a  spell.' 

'Say,  look  a-here,  you  ain't  goin'  to  hurt  me,  are  you? 
Remember,  I  belong  to  a  man  in  town,'  cried  the  yellow 
horse,  uneasily.  Muldoon  kept  behind  him  so  that  he 
could  not  run  away. 

'  I  know  it.  There  must  be  some  pore  delooded  fool 
in  this  State  hez  a  right  to  the  loose  end  o'  your  hitchin'- 
strap.  I'm  blame  sorry  fer  him,  but  he  shall  hev  his 
rights  when  we're  through  with  you,'  said  Rod. 

'If  it's  all  the  same,  gentlemen,  I'd  ruther  change 
pasture.     Guess  I'll  do  it  now.' 

'  Can't  always  have  your  'druthers.  Guess  you  won't,' 
said  Rod. 

'  But  look  a-here.  All  of  you  ain't  so  blame  unfriendly 
to  a  stranger.     S'pose  we  count  noses.' 

'  What  in  Vermont  fer? '  said  Rod,  putting  up  his  eye- 
brows. The  idea  of  settling  a  question  by  counting 
noses  is  the  very  last  thing  that  ever  enters  the  head  of  a 
well-broken  horse. 

'To  see  how  many's  on  my  side.  Here's  Miss  Tuck, 
anyway;  an'  Colonel  Tweezy  yonder's  neutral;  an' 
Judge  Marcus,  an'  I  guess  the  Reverend  [the  yellow 
horse  meant  the  Deacon]  might  see  that  I  had  my  rights. 
He's  the  likeliest-lookin'  trotter  I've  ever  set  eyes  on. 
Pshaw,  boys!  You  ain't  goin'  to  pound  me,  be  you? 
Why,  we've  gone  round  in  pasture,  all  colts  together, 

69 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

this  month  o'  Sundays,  hain't  we,  as  friendly  as  could 
be.  There  ain't  a  horse  alive — I  don't  care  who  he  is — 
has  a  higher  opinion  o'  you,  Mr.  Rod,  than  I  have. 
Let's  do  it  fair  an'  true  an'  above  the  exe.  Let's  count 
noses  same's  they  do  in  Kansas.'  Here  he  dropped  his 
voice  a  little  and  turned  to  Marcus:  'Say,  Judge,  there's 
some  green  food  I  know,  back  o'  the  brook,  no  one  hain't 
touched  yet.  After  this  little  fracas  is  fixed  up,  you  an' 
me'll  make  up  a  party  an'  'tend  to  it.' 

Marcus  did  not  answer  for  a  long  time,  then  he  said: 
'There's  a  pup  up  to  the  haouse  'bout  eight  weeks  old. 
He'll  yap  till  he  gits  a  lickin',  an'  when  he  sees  it  comin' 
he  lies  on  his  back  an'  yowls.  But  he  don't  go  through 
no  cir-kit-uous  nose-counting  first.  I've  seen  a  noo  light 
sence  Rod  spoke.  You'll  better  stand  up  to  what's 
served.     I'm  goin'  to  philosophise  all  over  your  carcass.' 

'  I'm  goin'  to  do  yer  up  in  brown  paper,'  said  Muldoon. 
'I  can  fit  you  on  apologies.' 

'Hold  on.  Ef  we  all  biffed  you  now,  these  same  men 
you've  been  so  dead  anxious  to  kill  'u'd  call  us  off. 
Guess  we'll  wait  till  they  go  back  to  the  haouse,  an' 
you'll  have  time  to  think  cool  an'  quiet,'  said  Rod. 

'  Have  you  no  respec'  whatever  f er  the  dignity  o'  our 
common  horsehood?'  the  yellow  horse  squealed. 

'Nary  respec'  onless  the  horse  kin  do  something. 
America's  paved  with  the  kind  er  horse  you  are — ^jist 
plain  yaller-dog  horse — waitin'  ter  be  whipped  inter 
shape.  We  call  'em  yearlings  an'  colts  when  they're 
young.  When  they're  aged  we  pound  'em — in  this 
pastur'.  Horse,  sonny,  is  what  you  start  from.  We 
know  all  about  horse  here,  an'  he  ain't  any  high-toned, 
pure-souled  child  o'  nature.  Horse,  plain  horse,  same 
ez  you,  is  chock-full  o'  tricks,  an'  meannesses,  an'  cussed- 

70 


m 


A  WALKING  DELEGATE 

nesses,  an'  shirkin's,  an'  monkey-shines,  which  he's  took 
over  from  his  sire  an'  his  dam,  an'  thickened  up  with  his 
own  special  fancy  in  the  way  o'  goin'  crooked.  Thet's 
horse,  an'  thet's  about  his  dignity  an'  the  size  of  his  soul 
'fore  he's  been  broke  an'  raw-hided  a  piece.  Now  we 
ain't  goin'  to  give  ornery  unswitched  horse,  that  hain't 
done  nawthin'  wuth  a  quart  of  oats  sence  he  wuz  foaled, 
pet  names  that  would  be  good  enough  fer  Nancy  Hanks, 
or  Alix,  or  Directum,  who  hev.  Don't  you  try  to  back 
off  acrost  them  rocks.  ^Yait  where  you  are!  Ef  I  let 
my  Hambletonian  temper  git  the  better  o'  me  I'd  frazzle 
you  out  finer  than  rye-straw  inside  o'  three  minutes, 
you  woman-scarin',  kid-killin',  dash-breakin',  unbroke, 
unshod,  ungaited,  pastur'-hoggin',  saw-backed,  shark- 
mouthed,  hair-trunk-thrown-in-with-a-trade  son  of  a 
bronco  an'  a  sewin'-machine!' 

'I  think  we'd  better  get  home,'  I  said  to  my  compan- 
ion when  Rod  had  finished;  and  we  climbed  into  the 
coupe,  Tedda  whinnying,  as  we  bumped  over  the  ledges : 
'Well,  I'm  dreffle  sorry  I  can't  stay  fer  the  sociable;  but 
I  hope  an'  trust  my  friends '11  take  a  ticket  fer  me.' 

'Bet  your  natchul!'  said  Muldoon,  cheerfully,  and 
the  horses  scattered  before  us,  trotting  into  the  ravine. 

Next  morning  we  sent  back  to  the  livery-stable  what 
was  left  of  the  yellow  horse.  It  seemed  tired,  but  anx- 
ious to  go. 


71 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

(1895) 

We  now,  held  in  captivity, 

Spring  to  our  labour  nor  grieve! 
See  now,  how  it  is  blesseder, 

Brothers,  to  give  than  receive ! 
Keep  trust,  wherefore  ye  were  made, 

Paying  the  duty  ye  owe ; 
For  a  clean  thrust  and  the  sheer  of  the  blade 

Shall  carry  us  where  we  should  go. 

*  Song  of  the  Engines.' 

IT  was  her  first  voyage,  and  though  she  was  but  a  cargo- 
steamer  of  twelve  hundred  tons,  she  was  the  very 
best  of  her  kind,  the  outcome  of  forty  years  of  ex- 
periments and  improvements  in  framework  and  ma- 
chinery; and  her  designers  and  owner  thought  as  much 
of  her  as  though  she  had  been  the  '  Lucania.'  Any  one 
can  make  a  floating  hotel  that  will  pay  expenses,  if  he 
puts  enough  money  into  the  saloon,  and  charges  for 
private  baths,  suites  of  rooms,  and  such  like;  but  in 
these  days  of  competition  and  low  freights  every  square 
inch  of  a  cargo-boat  must  be  built  for  cheapness,  great 
hold-capacity,  and  a  certain  steady  speed.  This  boat 
was,  perhaps,  two  hundred  and  forty  feet  long  and 
thirty-two  feet  wide,  with  arrangements  that  enabled 

72 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

her  to  carry  cattle  on  her  main  and  sheep  on  her  upper 
deck  if  she  wanted  to;  but  her  great  glory  was  the 
amount  of  cargo  that  she  could  store  away  in  her  holds. 
Her  owners — they  were  a  very  well  known  Scotch  firm 
— came  round  with  her  from  the  north,  where  she  had 
been  launched  and  christened  and  fitted,  to  Liverpool, 
where  she  was  to  take  cargo  for  New  York;  and  the 
owner's  daughter,  Miss  Frazier,  went  to  and  fro  on  the 
clean  decks,  admiring  the  new  paint  and  the  brass  work, 
and  the  patent  winches,  and  particularly  the  strong, 
straight  bow,  over  which  she  had  cracked  a  bottle  of 
champagne  when  she  named  the  steamer  the  'Dimbula.' 
It  was  a  beautiful  September  afternoon,  and  the  boat 
in  all  her  newness — she  was  painted  lead-colour  with  a 
red  funnel — looked  very  fine  indeed.  Her  house-flag 
was  flying,  and  her  whistle  from  time  to  time  acknowl- 
edged the  salutes  of  friendly  boats,  who  saw  that  she 
was  new  to  the  High  and  Narrow  Seas  and  wished  to 
make  her  welcome. 

'And  now,'  said  Miss  Frazier  delightedly,  to  the 
captain,  'she's  a  real  ship,  isn't  she?  It  seems  only  the 
.  other  day  father  gave  the  order  for  her,  and  now — and 
now — isn't  she  a  beauty!'  The  girl  was  proud  of  the 
firm,  and  talked  as  though  she  were  the  controlling 
partner. 

'Oh,  she's  no  so  bad,'  the  skipper  replied  cautiously. 
'But  I'm  sayin'  that  it  takes  more  than  christenin'  to 
mak'  a  ship.  In  the  nature  o'  things.  Miss  Frazier,  if 
ye  follow  me,  she's  just  irons  and  rivets  and  plates  put 
into  the  form  of  a  ship.  She  has  to  find  herself  yet.' 
P  'I  thought  father  said  she  was  exceptionally  well 
found.' 

'So  she  is,'  said  the  skipper,  with  a  laugh.     'But  it's 

73 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

this  way  wi'  ships,  Miss  Frazier.  She's  all  here,  but 
the  parrts  of  her  have  not  learned  to  work  together  yet. 
They've  had  no  chance.' 

'The  engines  are  working  beautifully.  I  can  hear 
them.' 

'Yes,  indeed.  But  there's  more  than  engines  to  a 
ship.  Every  inch  of  her,  ye'll  understand,  has  to  be 
livened  up  and  made  to  work  wi'  its  neighbour — sweet- 
enin'  her,  we  call  it,  technically.' 

'And  how  will  you  do  it?'  the  girl  asked. 

'We  can  no  more  than  drive  and  steer  her,  and  so 
forth;  but  if  we  have  rough  weather  this  trip — it's  likely 
— she'll  learn  the  rest  by  heart!  For  a  ship,  ye'll  ob- 
sairve,  Miss  Frazier,  is  in  no  sense  a  reegid  body  closed 
at  both  ends.  She's  a  highly  complex  structure  o'  various 
an'  conflictin'  strains,  wi'  tissues  that  must  give  an'  tak 
accordin'  to  her  personal  modulus  of  elasteecity.'  Mr. 
Buchanan,  the  chief  engineer,  was  coming  towards  them. 
'I'm  sayin'  to  Miss  Frazier,  here,  that  our  little  "Dim- 
bula"  has  to  be  sweetened  yet,  and  nothin'  but  a  gale 
will  do  it.     How's  all  wi'  your  engines,  Buck? ' 

*W'ell  enough — true  by  plumb  an'  rule,  o'  course;  but 
there's  no  spontaneeity  yet.'  He  turned  to  the  girl. 
'Take  my  word,  Miss  Frazier,  and  maybe  ye'll  com- 
prehend later;  even  after  a  pretty  girl's  christened  a 
ship  it  does  not  follow  that  there's  such  a  thing  as  a  ship 
under  the  men  that  work  her.' 

'I  was  sayin'  the  very  same,  Mr.  Buchanan,'  the 
skipper  interrupted. 

*  That's  more  metaphysical  than  I  can  follow,'  said 
Miss  Frazier,  laughing. 

'Why  so?  Ye're  good  Scotch,  an' — I  knew  your 
mother's  father,  he  was  fra'  Dumfries — ^ye've  a  vested 

74 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

right  in  metapheesics,  Miss  Frazier,  just  as  ye  have  in 
the  "  Dimbula," '  the  engineer  said. 

'Eh,  well,  we  must  go  down  to  the  deep  watters,  an' 
earn  Miss  Frazier  her  deevidends.  Will  you  not  come 
to  my  cabin  for  tea?'  said  the  skipper.  'We'll  be  in 
dock  the  night,  and  when  you're  goin'  back  to  Glasgie 
ye  can  think  of  us  loadin'  her  down  an'  drivin'  her  forth 
—all  for  your  sake.' 

In  the  next  few  days  they  stowed  some  two  thousand 
tons'  dead  weight  into  the  'Dimbula,'  and  took  her  out 
from  Liverpool.  As  soon  as  she  met  the  lift  of  the  open 
water,  she  naturally  began  to  talk.  If  you  lay  your  ear 
to  the  side  of  the  cabin  the  next  time  you  are  in  a  steamer, 
you  will  hear  hundreds  of  little  voices  in  every  direction, 
thrilling  and  buzzing,  and  whispering  and  popping,  and 
gurgling  and  sobbing  and  squeaking  exactly  like  a  tele- 
phone in  a  thunder-storm.  Wooden  ships  shriek  and 
growl  and  grunt,  but  iron  vessels  throb  and  quiver 
through  all  their  hundreds  of  ribs  and  thousands  of  rivets. 
The  '  Dimbula '  was  very  strongly  built,  and  every  piece 
of  her  had  a  letter  or  number,  or  both,  to  describe  it; 
and  every  piece  had  been  hammered,  or  forged,  or  rolled, 
or  punched  by  man,  and  had  lived  in  the  roar  and  rattle 
of  the  ship-yard  for  months.  Therefore,  every  piece 
had  its  own  separate  voice  in  exact  proportion  to  the 
amount  of  trouble  spent  upon  it.  Cast-iron,  as  a  rule, 
says  very  little;  but  mild  steel  plates  and  wrought-iron, 
and  rib  and  beams  that  have  been  much  bent  and  welded 
and  riveted,  talk  continuously.  Their  conversation,  of 
course,  is  not  half  as  wise  as  our  human  talk,  because  they 
are  all,  though  they  do  not  know  it,  bound  down  one  to  the 
other  in  a  black  darkness,  where  they  cannot  tell  what  is 
happening  near  them,  nor  what  will  overtake  them  next. 

75 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

As  soon  as  she  had  cleared  the  Irish  coast  a  sullen, 
gray-headed  old  wave  of  the  Atlantic  climbed  leisurely 
over  her  straight  bow,  and  sat  down  on  her  steam-cap- 
stan used  for  hauling  up  the  anchor.  Now  the  capstan 
and  the  engine  that  drove  it  had  been  newly  painted  red 
and  green;  besides  which,  nobody  likes  being  ducked. 

'Don't  you  do  that  again,'  the  capstan  sputtered 
through  the  teeth  of  his  cogs.  '  Hi !  Where's  the  fellow 
gone? ' 

The  wave  had  slouched  overside  with  a  plop  and  a 
chuckle;  but  'Plenty  more  where  he  came  from,'  said  a 
brother-wave,  and  went  through  and  over  the  capstan, 
who  was  bolted  firmly  to  an  iron  plate  on  the  iron  deck- 
beams  below. 

'Can't  you  keep  still  up  there?'  said  the  deck-beams. 
'What's  the  matter  with  you?  One  minute  you  weigh 
twice  as  much  as  you  ought  to,  and  the  next  you  don't ! ' 

'  It  isn't  my  fault,'  said  the  capstan.  ' There's  a  green 
brute  outside  that  comes  and  hits  me  on  the  head.' 

'Tell  that  to  the  shipwrights.  You've  been  in  posi- 
tion for  months  and  you've  never  wriggled  like  this  before. 
If  you  aren't  careful  you'll  strain  us.' 

'Talking  of  strain,'  said  a  low,  rasping,  unpleasant 
voice,  'are  any  of  you  fellows — you  deck-beams,  we 
mean — aware  that  those  exceedingly  ugly  knees  of  yours 
happen  to  be  riveted  into  our  structure — ours? ' 

'Who  might  you  be?'  the  deck-beams  inguired. 

'Oh,  nobody  in  particular,'  was  the  answer.  'We're 
only  the  port  and  starboard  upper-deck  stringers ;  and  if 
you  persist  in  heaving  and  hiking  like  this,  we  shall  be 
reluctantly  compelled  to  take  steps.' 

Now  the  stringers  of  the  ship  are  long  iron  girders,  so 
to  speak,  that  run  lengthways  from  stern  to  bow.    They 

76 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

keep  the  iron  frames  (what  are  called  ribs  in  a  wooden 
ship)  in  place,  and  also  help  to  hold  the  ends  of  the 
deck-beams,  which  go  from  side  to  side  of  the  ship. 
Stringers  always  consider  themselves  most  important, 
because  they  are  so  long. 

'You  will  take  steps — will  you?'  This  was  a  long 
echoing  rumble.  It  came  from  the  frames — scores  and 
scores  of  them,  each  one  about  eighteen  inches  distant 
from  the  next,  and  each  riveted  to  the  stringers  in  four 
places.  'We  think  you  will  have  a  certain  amount  of 
trouble  in  that';  and  thousands  and  thousands  of  little 
rivets  that  held  everything  together  whispered:  'You 
will.  You  will!  Stop  quivering  and  be  quiet.  Hold 
on,  brethren !     Hold  on !     Hot  Punches !     What's  that?' 

Rivets  have  no  teeth,  so  they  cannot  chatter  with 
fright;  but  they  did  their  best  as  a  fluttering  jar  swept 
along  the  ship  from  stern  to  bow,  and  she  shook  like  a 
rat  in  a  terrier's  mouth. 

An  unusually  severe  pitch,  for  the  sea  was  rising,  had 
lifted  the  big  throbbing  screw  nearly  to  the  surface,  and 
it  was  spinning  round  in  a  kind  of  soda-water — half  sea 
and  half  air — going  much  faster  than  was  proper,  be- 
cause there  was  no  deep  water  for  it  to  work  in.  As  it 
sank  again,  the  engines — and  they  were  triple  expansion, 
three  cylinders  in  a  row —  snorted  through  all  their  three 
pistons.  'Was  that  a  joke,  you  fellow  outside?  It's 
an  uncommonly  poor  one.  How  are  we  to  do  our  work 
if  you  fly  off  the  handle  that  way? ' 

'I  didn't  fly  ofl"  the  handle,'  said  the  screw,  twirling 
huskily  at  the  end  of  the  screw-shaft.  '  If  I  had,  you'd 
have  been  scrap-iron  by  this  time.  The  sea  dropped 
away  from  under  me,  and  I  had  nothing  to  catch  on  to. 
That's  all.' 

77 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'That's  all,  d'you  call  it?'  said  the  thrust-block, 
whose  business  it  is  to  take  the  push  of  the  screw;  for  if  a 
screw  had  nothing  to  hold  it  back  it  would  crawl  right 
into  the  engine-room.  (It  is  the  holding  back  of  the 
screwing  action  that  gives  the  drive  to  a  ship.)  *  I  know 
I  do  my  work  deep  down  and  out  of  sight,  but  I  warn 
you  I  expect  justice.  All  I  ask  for  is  bare  justice. 
Why  can't  you  push  steadily  and  evenly,  instead  of 
whizzing  like  a  whirligig,  and  making  me  hot  under  all 
my  collars.'  The  thrust-block  had  six  collars,  each 
faced  with  brass,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  get  them  heated. 

All  the  bearings  that  supported  the  fifty  feet  of  screw- 
shaft  as  it  ran  to  the  stern  whispered:  'Justice — give  us 
justice.' 

'I  can  only  give  you  what  I  can  get,'  the  screw  an- 
swered.    '  Look  out !     It's  coming  again ! ' 

He  rose  with  a  roar  as  the  *Dimbula'  plunged,  and 
*  whack — flack — whack — whack'  went  the  engines,  fu- 
riously, for  they  had  little  to  check  them. 

*rm  the  noblest  outcome  of  human  ingenuity — Mr. 
Buchanan  says  so,'  squealed  the  high-pressure  cylinder. 
*This  is  simply  ridiculous!'  The  piston  went  up  sav- 
agely, and  choked,  for  half  the  steam  behind  it  was  mixed 
with  dirty  water.  'Help!  Oiler!  Fitter!  Stoker!  Help! 
I'm  choking,'  it  gasped.  'Never  in  the  history  of  mari- 
time invention  has  such  a  calamity  overtaken  one  so 
young  and  strong.  And  if  I  go,  who's  to  drive  the 
ship?' 

'Hush!  oh,  hush!'  whispered  the  Steam,  who,  of 
course,  had  been  to  sea  many  times  before.  He  used  to 
spend  his  leisure  ashore  in  a  cloud,  or  a  gutter,  or  a 
flower-pot,  or  a  thunder-storm,  or  anywhere  else  where 
water  was  needed.     *  That's  only  a  little  priming,  a  little 

78 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

carrying-over,  as  they  call  it.  It'll  happen  all  night,  on 
and  off.  I  don't  say  it's  nice,  but  it's  the  best  we  can 
do  under  the  circumstances.' 

'What  difference  can  circumstances  make?  I'm  here 
to  do  my  work — on  clean,  dry  steam.  Blow  circum- 
stances!' the  cylinder  roared. 

'The  circumstances  will  attend  to  the  blowing.  I've 
worked  on  the  North  Atlantic  run  a  good  many  times — 
it's  going  to  be  rough  before  morning.' 

'It  isn't  distressingly  calm  now,'  said  the  extra-strong 
frames — they  were  called  web-frames — in  the  engine- 
room.  'There's  an  upward  thrust  that  we  don't  un- 
derstand, and  there's  a  twist  that  is  very  bad  for  our 
brackets  and  diamond-plates,  and  there's  a  sort  of  west- 
north-westerly  pull  that  follows  the  twist,  which  seri- 
ously annoys  us.  We  mention  this  because  we  happened 
to  cost  a  good  deal  of  money,  and  we  feel  sure  that  the 
owner  would  not  approve  of  our  being  treated  in  this 
frivolous  way.' 

'I'm  afraid  the  matter  is  out  of  the  owner's  hands  for 
the  present,'  said  the  Steam,  slipping  into  the  condenser. 
'You're  left  to  your  own  devices  till  the  weather  betters.' 

'I  wouldn't  mind  the  weather,'  said  a  flat  bass  voice 
below;  'it's  this  confounded  cargo  that's  breaking  my 
heart.  I'm  the  garboard-strake,  and  I'm  twice  as  thick 
as  most  of  the  others,  and  I  ought  to  know  something.' 

The  garboard-strake  is  the  lowest  plate  in  the  bottom 
of  a  ship,  and  the  'Dimbula's' garboard-strake  was  nearly 
three-quarters  of  an  inch  mild  steel. 

'The  sea  pushes  me  up  in  a  way  I  should  never  have 
expected,'  the  strake  grunted,  'and  the  cargo  pushes  me 
down,  and,  between  the  two,  I  don't  know  what  I'm 
supposed  to  do.' 

79 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'When  in  doubt,  hold  on,'  rumbled  the  Steam,  making 
head  in  the  boilers. 

'Yes;  but  there's  only  dark,  and  cold,  and  hurry,  down 
here;  and  how  do  I  know  whether  the  other  plates  are 
doing  their  duty?  Those  bulwark-plates  up  above,  I've 
heard,  ain't  more  than  five-sixteenths  of  an  inch  thick — 
scandalous,  I  call  it.' 

'I  agree  with  you,'  said  a  huge  web-frame  by  the 
main  cargo-hatch.  He  was  deeper  and  thicker  than  all 
the  others,  and  curved  half-way  across  the  ship  in  the 
shape  of  half  an  arch,  to  support  the  deck  where  deck- 
beams  would  have  been  in  the  way  of  cargo  coming  up 
and  down.  'I  work  entirely  unsupported,  and  I  ob- 
serve that  I  am  the  sole  strength  of  this  vessel,  so  far  as 
my  vision  extends.  The  responsibility,  I  assure  you,  is 
enormous.  I  believe  the  money-value  of  the  cargo  is 
over  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds.  Think  of 
that!' 

'And  every  pound  of  it  is  dependent  on  my  personal 
exertions.'  Here  spoke  a  sea-valve  that  communicated 
directly  with  the  water  outside,  and  was  seated  not  very 
far  from  the  garboard-strake.  'I  rejoice  to  think  that 
I  am  a  Prince-Hyde  Valve,  with  best  Para  rubber  fac- 
ings. Five  patents  cover  me — I  mention  this  without 
pride — five  separate  and  several  patents,  each  one  finer 
than  the  other.  At  present  I  am  screwed  fast.  Should 
I  open,  you  would  immediately  be  swamped.  This  is 
incontrovertible ! ' 

Patent  things  always  use  the  longest  words  they  can. 
It  is  a  trick  that  they  pick  up  from  their  inventors. 

'That's  news,'  said  a  big  centrifugal  bilge-pump.  'I 
had  an  idea  that  you  were  employed  to  clean  decks  and 
things  with.     At  least,  I've  used  you  for  that  more  than 

80 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

once.  I  forget  the  precise  number,  in  thousands,  of 
gallons  which  I  am  guaranteed  to  throw  per  hour;  but  I 
assure  you,  my  complaining  friends,  that  there  is  not  the 
least  danger.  I  alone  am  capable  of  clearing  any  water 
that  may  find  its  way  here.  By  my  Biggest  Deliveries, 
we  pitched  then ! ' 

The  sea  was  getting  up  in  a  workmanlike  style.  It 
was  a  dead  westerly  gale,  blown  from  under  a  ragged 
opening  of  green  sky,  narrowed  on  all  sides  by  fat,  gray 
clouds;  and  the  wind  bit  like  pincers  as  it  fretted  the 
spray  into  lacework  on  the  flanks  of  the  waves. 

'I  tell  you  what  it  is,'  the  foremast  telephoned  down 
its  wire-stays.  'I'm  up  here,  and  I  can  take  a  dispas- 
sionate view  of  things.  There's  an  organised  conspiracy 
against  us.  I'm  sure  of  it,  because  every  single  one  of 
these  waves  is  heading  directly  for  our  bows.  The  whole 
sea  is  concerned  in  it — and  so's  the  wind.     It's  awful ! ' 

'What's  awful?'  said  a  wave,  drowning  the  capstan 
for  the  hundredth  time. 

'This  organised  conspiracy  on  your  part,'  the  capstan 
gurgled,  taking  his  cue  from  the  mast. 

'Organised  bubbles  and  spindrift!  There  has  been  a 
depression  in  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  Excuse  me!'  He 
leaped  overside;  but  his  friends  took  up  the  tale  one 
after  another. 

'Which  has  advanced — '  That  wave  hove  green 
water  over  the  funnel. 

'  As  far  as  Cape  Hatteras — '     He  drenched  the  bridge. 

'  And  is  now  going  out  to  sea — to  sea — to  sea ! '  The 
third  wave  went  free  in  three  surges,  making  a  clean 
sweep  of  a  boat,  which  turned  bottom  up  and  sank  in 
the  darkening  troughs  alongside,  while  the  broken  falls 
whipped  the  davits. 

81 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'That's  all  there  is  to  it,'  seethed  the  white  water  roar- 
ing through  the  scuppers.  'There's  no  animus  in  our 
proceedings.     We're  only  meteorological  corollaries.' 

'Is  it  going  to  get  any  worse?'  said  the  bow-anchor 
chained  down  to  the  deck,  where  he  could  only  breathe 
once  in  five  minutes. 

'Not  knowing,  can't  say.  Wind  may  blow  a  bit  by 
midnight.     Thanks  awfully.     Good-bye.' 

The  wave  that  spoke  so  politely  had  travelled  some 
distance  aft,  and  found  itself  all  mixed  up  on  the  deck 
amidships,  which  was  a  well-deck  sunk  between  high 
bulwarks.  One  of  the  bulwark  plates,  which  was  hung  on 
hinges  to  open  outward,  had  swung  out,  and  passed  the 
bulk  of  the  water  back  to  the  sea  again  with  a  clean  smack. 

'Evidently  that's  what  I'm  made  for,'  said  the  plate, 
closing  again  with  a  sputter  of  pride.  '  Oh  no,  you  don't, 
my  friend!' 

The  top  of  a  wave  was  trying  to  get  in  from  the  out- 
side, but  as  the  plate  did  not  open  in  that  direction,  the 
defeated  water  spurted  back. 

'Not  bad  for  five-sixteenths  of  an  inch,'  said  the  bul- 
wark-plate. '  My  work,  I  see,  is  laid  down  for  the  night' ; 
and  it  began  opening  and  shutting  with  the  motion  of 
the  ship  as  it  was  designed  to  do. 

'  W^e  are  not  what  you  might  call  idle,'  groaned  all  the 
frames  together,  as  the  'Dimbula'  climbed  a  big  wave, 
lay  on  her  side  at  the  top,  and  shot  into  the  next  hollow, 
twisting  in  the  descent.  A  huge  swell  pushed  up  ex- 
actly under  her  middle,  and  her  bow  and  stern  hung 
free  with  nothing  to  support  them.  Then  one  joking 
wave  caught  her  up  at  the  bow,  and  another  at  the  stern, 
while  the  rest  of  the  water  slunk  away  from  under  her 
just  to  see  how  she  would  like  it;  so  she  was  held  up  at 

82 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

her  two  ends  only,  and  the  weight  of  the  cargo  and  the 
machinery  fell  on  the  groaning  iron  keels  and  bilge- 
stringers. 

'Ease  off!  Ease  off,  there!'  roared  the  garboard- 
strake.  '  I  want  one-eighth  of  an  inch  fair  play.  D'you 
hear  me,  you  rivets ! ' 

'Ease  off!  Easeoff!' cried  the  bilge-stringers.  'Don't 
hold  us  so  tight  to  the  frames!' 

'Ease  off!'  grunted  the  deck-beams,  as  the  'Dimbula' 
rolled  fearfully.  'You've  cramped  our  knees  into  the 
stringers,  and  we  can't  move.  Ease  off,  you  flat-headed 
little  nuisances.' 

Then  two  converging  seas  hit  the  bows,  one  on  each 
side,  and  fell  away  in  torrents  of  streaming  thunder. 

'Ease  off!'  shouted  the  forward  collision-bulkhead. 
'I  want  to  crumple  up,  but  Fm  stiffened  in  every  di- 
rection. Ease  off,  you  dirty  little  forge-filings.  Let  me 
breathe!' 

All  the  hundreds  of  plates  that  are  riveted  to  the 
frames,  and  make  the  outside  skin  of  every  steamer, 
echoed  the  call,  for  each  plate  wanted  to  shift  and  creep 
a  little,  and  each  plate,  according  to  its  position,  com- 
plained against  the  rivets. 

'  We  can't  help  it !  We  can't  help  it ! '  they  murmured 
in  reply.  'We're  put  here  to  hold  you,  and  we're  going 
to  do  it;  you  never  pull  us  twice  in  the  same  direction. 
If  you'd  say  what  you  were  going  to  do  next,  we'd  try 
to  meet  your  views.' 

'As  far  as  I  could  feel,'  said  the  upper-deck  planking, 
and  that  was  four  inches  thick,  'every  single  iron  near 
me  was  pushing  or  pulling  in  opposite  directions.  Now, 
what's  the  sense  of  that?  My  friends,  let  us  all  pull 
together.' 

83 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'Pull  any  way  you  please,'  roared  the  funnel,  'so  long 
as  you  don't  try  your  experiments  on  me.  I  need  seven 
wire  ropes,  all  pulling  in  different  directions,  to  hold  me 
steady.     Isn't  that  so?' 

'We  believe  you,  my  boy!'  whistled  the  funnel-stays 
through  their  clinched  teeth,  as  they  twanged  in  the  wind 
from  the  top  of  the  funnel  to  the  deck. 

'Nonsense!  We  must  all  pull  together,'  the  decks 
repeated.     'Pull  lengthways.' 

'Very  good,'  said  the  stringers;  'then  stop  pushing 
sideways  when  you  get  wet.  Be  content  to  run  grace- 
fully fore  and  aft,  and  curve  in  at  the  ends  as  we  do.' 

'No — no  curves  at  the  end !  A  very  slight  workman- 
like curve  from  side  to  side,  with  a  good  grip  at  each 
knee,  and  little  pieces  welded  on,'  said  the  deck-beams. 

'Fiddle!'  cried  the  iron  pillars  of  the  deep,  dark  hold. 
'Who  ever  heard  of  curves?  Stand  up  straight;  be  a 
perfectly  round  column,  and  carry  tons  of  good  solid 
weight — like  that!  There!'  A  big  sea  smashed  on  the 
deck  above,  and  the  pillars  stiffened  themselves  to  the 
load. 

'Straight  up  and  dow^n  is  not  bad,'  said  the  frames, 
who  ran  that  way  in  the  sides  of  the  ship,  'but  you  must 
also  expand  yourselves  sideways.  Expansion  is  the  law 
of  life,  children.     Open  out !  open  out ! ' 

'Come  back!'  said  the  deck-beams  savagely,  as  the 
upward  heave  of  the  sea  made  the  frames  try  to  open. 
'Come  back  to  your  bearings,  you  slack-jawed  irons!' 

'Rigidity!  Rigidity!  Rigidity!'  thumped  the  en- 
gines.    *  Absolute,  unvarying  rigidity — rigidity ! ' 

'You  see!'  whined  the  rivets  in  chorus.  'No  two  of 
you  will  ever  pull  alike,  and — and  you  blame  it  all  on  us. 
We  only  know  how  to  go  through  a  plate  and  bite  down 

84 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

on  both  sides  so  that  it  can't,  and  mustn't,  and  shan't 
move.' 

'Eve  got  one-fraction  of  an  inch  play,  at  any  rate,' 
said  the  garboard-strake,  triumphantly.  So  he  had, 
and  all  the  bottom  of  the  ship  felt  the  easier  for  it. 

'Then  we're  no  good,'  sobbed  the  bottom  rivets.  'We 
were  ordered — we  were  ordered — never  to  give;  and 
we've  given,  and  the  sea  will  come  in,  and  we'll  all  go  to 
the  bottom  together !  First  we're  blamed  for  everything 
unpleasant,  and  now  we  haven't  the  consolation  of  hav- 
ing done  our  work.' 

'Don't  say  I  told  you,'  whispered  the  Steam  consol- 
ingly; 'but,  between  you  and  me  and  the  last  cloud  I 
came  from,  it  was  bound  to  happen  sooner  or  later. 
You  had  to  give  a  fraction,  and  you've  given  without 
knowing  it.     Now,  hold  on,  as  before.' 

'What's  the  use?'  a  few  hundred  rivets  chattered. 
'We've  given — we've  given;  and  the  sooner  we  confess 
that  we  can't  keep  the  ship  together,  and  go  off  our  little 
heads,  the  easier  it  will  be.  No  rivet  forged  can  stand 
this  strain.' 

'No  one  rivet  was  ever  meant  to.  Share  it  among 
you,'  the  Steam  answered. 

'The  others  can  have  my  share.  Em  going  to  pull 
out,'  said  a  rivet  in  one  of  the  forward  plates. 

'If  you  go,  others  will  follow,'  hissed  the  Steam. 
'There's  nothing  so  contagious  in  a  boat  as  rivets  going. 
Why,  I  knew  a  little  chap  like  you — he  was  an  eighth  of 
an  inch  fatter,  though — on  a  steamer — to  be  sure,  she 
was  only  nine  hundred  tons,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it — 
in  exactly  the  same  place  as  you  are.  He  pulled  out  in 
a  bit  of  a  bobble  of  a  sea,  not  half  as  bad  as  this,  and  he 
started  all  his  friends  on  the  same  butt-strap,  and  the 

85 


THE  DAY'S  ^YORK 

plates  opened  like  a  furnace  door,  and  I  had  to  climb 
into  the  nearest  fog-bank,  while  the  boat  went  down.' 

'Now  that's  peculiarly  disgraceful,'  said  the  rivet. 
'Fatter  than  me,  was  he,  and  in  a  steamer  half  our  ton- 
nage? Reedy  little  peg!  I  blush  for  the  family,  sir.' 
He  settled  himself  more  firmly  than  ever  in  his  place, 
and  the  Steam  chuckled. 

'You  see,'  he  went  on,  quite  gravely,  'a  rivet,  and 
especially  a  rivet  in  your  position,  is  really  the  one  in- 
dispensable part  of  the  ship.' 

The  Steam  did  not  say  that  he  had  whispered  the  very 
same  thing  to  every  single  piece  of  iron  aboard.  There 
is  no  sense  in  telling  too  much  truth. 

And  all  that  while  the  little  'Dimbula'  pitched  and 
chopped,  and  swung  and  slewed,  and  lay  down  as  though 
she  were  going  to  die,  and  got  up  as  though  she  had  been 
stung,  and  threw  her  nose  round  and  round  in  circles 
half  a  dozen  times  as  she  dipped;  for  the  gale  was  at  its 
worst.  It  was  inky  black,  in  spite  of  the  tearing  white 
froth  on  the  waves,  and,  to  top  everything,  the  rain 
began  to  fall  in  sheets,  so  that  you  could  not  see  your 
hand  before  your  face.  This  did  not  make  much  differ- 
ence to  the  ironwork  below,  but  it  troubled  the  foremast 
a  good  deal. 

'Now  it's  all  finished,'  he  said  dismally.  'The  con- 
spiracy is  too  strong  for  us.  There  is  nothing  left  but 
to—' 

'Hurraar!  Brrrraaah!  Brrrrrrp !'  roared  the  Steam 
through  the  fog-horn,  till  the  decks  quivered.  'Don't 
be  frightened,  below.  It's  only  me,  just  throwing  out  a 
few  words,  in  case  any  one  happens  to  be  rolling  round 
to-night.' 

'You  don't  mean  to  say  there's  any  one  except  us  on 

86 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

the  sea  in  such  weather?'  said  the  funnel  in  a  husl^y 
snuffle. 

'Scores  of  'em,'  said  the  Steam,  clearing  its  throat; 
'  Rrrrrraaa !  Brraaaaa !  Prrrrp !  It's  a  trifle  windy  up 
here  and,  Great  Boflers!  how  it  rains!' 

'We're  drowning,'  said  the  scuppers.  They  had  been 
doing  nothing  else  all  night,  but  this  steady  thrash  of 
rain  above  them  seemed  to  be  the  end  of  the  world. 

'That's  all  right.  We'll  be  easier  in  an  hour  or 
two.  First  the  wind  and  then  the  rain :  Soon  you  may 
make  sail  again !  Grrraaaaaah !  Drrrraaaa !  Drrrp !  I 
have  a  notion  that  the  sea  is  going  down  already.  If 
it  does  you'll  learn  something  about  rolling.  We've 
only  pitched  till  now.  By  the  way,  aren't  you  chaps  in 
the  hold  a  little  easier  than  you  were? ' 

There  was  just  as  much  groaning  and  straining  as 
ever,  but  it  was  not  so  loud  or  squeaky  in  tone;  and 
when  the  ship  quivered  she  did  not  jar  stiffly,  like  a 
poker  hit  on  the  floor,  but  gave  with  a  supple  little  wag- 
gle, like  a  perfectly  balanced  golf -club. 

'We  have  made  a  most  amazing  discovery,'  said  the 
stringers,  one  after  another.  '  A  discovery  that  entirely 
changes  the  situation.  We  have  found,  for  the  first 
time  in  the  history  of  shipbuilding,  that  the  inward  pull 
of  the  deck-beams  and  the  outward  thrust  of  the  frames 
lock  us,  as  it  were,  more  closely  in  our  places,  and  enables 
us  to  endure  a  strain  which  is  entirely  without  parallel 
in  the  records  of  marine  architecture.' 

The  Steam  turned  a  laugh  quickly  into  a  roar  up  the 
fog-horn.  '  What  massive  intellects  you  great  stringers 
have,'  he  said  softly,  when  he  had  finished. 

*  We  also,'  began  the  deck-beams,  'are  discoverers  and 
geniuses.     We  are  of  opinion  that  the  support  of  the 

87 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

hold-pillars  materially  helps  us.  We  find  that  we  lock 
up  on  them  when  we  are  subjected  to  a  heavy  and  singu- 
lar weight  of  sea  above.' 

Here  the  'Dimbula'  shot  down  a  hollow,  lying  almost 
on  her  side— righting  at  the  bottom  with  a  wrench  and  a 
spasm. 

'  In  these  cases — are  you  aware  of  this,  Steam? — the 
plating  at  the  bows,  and  particularly  at  the  stern — we 
would  also  mention  the  floors  beneath  us — help  us  to 
resist  any  tendency  to  spring.'  The  frames  spoke  in 
the  solemn,  awed  voice  which  people  use  when  they 
have  just  come  across  something  entirely  new  for  the 
very  first  time. 

'  I'm  only  a  poor  puffy  little  flutterer,'  said  the  Steam, 
'  but  I  have  to  stand  a  good  deal  of  pressure  in  my  busi- 
ness. It's  all  tremendously  interesting.  Tell  us  some 
more.     You  fellows  are  so  strong.' 

*  Watch  us  and  you'll  see,'  said  the  bow-plates,  proudly. 
'Ready,  behind  there!  Here's  the  Father  and  Mother 
of  Waves  coming !  Sit  tight,  rivets  all ! '  A  great  sluic- 
ing comber  thundered  by,  but  through  the  scuffle  and 
confusion  the  Steam  could  hear  the  low,  quick  cries 
of  the  ironwork  as  the  various  strains  took  them — cries 
like  these:  'Easy,  now — easy!  Now  push  for  all  your 
strength!  Holdout!  Give  a  fraction !  Holdup!  Pull 
in!  Shove  crossways!  Mind  the  strain  at  the  ends! 
Grip,  now !  Bite  tight !  Let  the  water  get  away  from 
under — and  there  she  goes!' 

The  wave  raced  off  into  the  darkness,  shouting,  'Not 
bad,  that,  if  it's  your  first  run!'  and  the  drenched  and 
ducked  ship  throbbed  to  the  beat  of  the  engines  inside 
her.  All  three  cylinders  were  white  with  the  salt  spray 
that  had  come  down  through  the  engine-room  hatch; 

88 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

there  was  white  fur  on  the  canvas-bound  steam-pipes, 
and  even  the  bright-work  deep  below  was  speckled  and 
soiled;  but  the  cylinders  had  learned  to  make  the  most 
of  steam  that  was  half  water,  and  were  pounding  along 
cheerfully. 

'  How's  the  noblest  outcome  of  human  ingenuity  hitting 
it?'  said  the  Steam,  as  he  whirled  through  the  engine-room. 

'Nothing  for  nothing  in  this  world  of  woe,'  the  cylin- 
ders answered,  as  though  they  had  been  working  for 
centuries,  'and  precious  little  for  seventy-five  pounds' 
head.  We've  made  two  knots  this  last  hour  and  a 
quarter!  Rather  humiliating  for  eight  hundred  horse- 
power, isn't  it? ' 

'Well,  it's  better  than  drifting  astern,  at  any  rate. 
You  seem  rather  less — how  shall  I  put  it? — stiff  in  the 
back  than  you  were.' 

'If  you'd  been  hammered  as  we've  been  this  night, 
you  wouldn't  be  stiff — iff — ^iff ,  either.  Theo-reti — retti — 
retti — cally,  of  course,  rigidity  is  the  thing.  Purrr — 
purr — practically,  there  has  to  be  a  little  give  and  take. 
We  found  that  out  by  working  on  our  sides  for  five 
minutes  at  a  stretch — chch — chh.    How's  the  weather?' 

'Sea's  going  down  fast,'  said  the  Steam. 

'Good  business,'  said  the  high-pressure  cylinder. 
'Whack  her  up,  boys.  They've  given  us  five  pounds 
more  steam';  and  he  began  humming  the  first  bars  of 
'Said  the  young  Obadiah  to  the  old  Obadiah,'  which,  as 
you  may  have  noticed,  is  a  pet  tune  among  engines  not 
built  for  high  speed.  Racing-liners  with  twin-screws 
sing  'The  Turkish  Patrol'  and  the  overture  to  'The 
Bronze  Horse,'  and  'Madame  Angot,'  till  something 
goes  wrong,  and  then  they  render  Gounod's  'Funeral 
March  of  a  Marionette,'  with  variations. 

89 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'You'll  learn  a  song  of  your  own  some  fine  day,'  said 
the  Steam,  as  he  flew  up  the  fog-horn  for  one  last  bellow. 

Next  day  the  sky  cleared  and  the  sea  dropped  a  little, 
and  the  'Dimbula'  began  to  roll  from  side  to  side  till 
every  inch  of  iron  in  her  was  sick  and  giddy.  But 
luckily  they  did  not  all  feel  ill  at  the  same  time:  other- 
wise she  would  have  opened  out  like  a  w^et  paper  box. 

The  Steam  whistled  warnings  as  he  went  about  his 
business:  it  is  in  this  short,  quick  roll  and  tumble  that 
follows  a  heavy  sea  that  most  of  the  accidents  happen, 
for  then  everything  thinks  that  the  worst  is  over  and 
goes  off  guard.  So  he  orated  and  chattered  till  the 
beams  and  frames  and  floors  and  stringers  and  things 
had  learned  how  to  lock  down  and  lockup  on  one  another, 
and  endure  this  new  kind  of  strain. 

They  found  ample  time  to  practise,  for  they  were 
sixteen  days  at  sea,  and  it  was  foul  weather  till  within 
a  hundred  miles  of  New  York.  The  '  Dimbula '  picked 
up  her  pilot,  and  came  in  covered  with  salt  and  red  rust. 
Her  funnel  was  dirty  gray  from  top  to  bottom;  two 
boats  had  been  carried  away;  three  copper  ventilators 
looked  like  hats  after  a  flght  with  the  police;  the  bridge 
had  a  dimple  in  the  middle  of  it ;  the  house  that  covered 
the  steam  steering-gear  was  split  as  with  hatchets;  there 
was  a  bill  for  small  repairs  in  the  engine-room  almost  as 
long  as  the  screw-shaft;  the  forward  cargo-hatch  fell  into 
bucket-staves  when  they  raised  the  iron  cross-bars ;  and 
the  steam-capstan  had  been  badly  wrenched  on  its  bed. 
Altogether,  as  the  skipper  said,  it  was  '  a  pretty  general 
average.' 

'But  she's  soupled,'  he  said  to  Mr.  Buchanan.  'For 
all  her  dead  weight  she  rode  like  a  yacht.  Ye  mind 
that  last  blow  off  the  Banks?     I  am  proud  of  her,  Buck.' 

90 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

'It's  vara  good,'  said  the  chief  engineer,  looking  along 
the  dishevelled  decks.  'Now,  a  man  judgin'  superfee- 
cially  would  say  we  were  a  wreck,  but  we  know  otherwise 
— by  experience.' 

Naturally  everything  in  the  '  Dimbula'  fairly  stiffened 
with  pride,  and  the  foremast  and  the  forward  collision- 
bulkhead,  who  are  pushing  creatures,  begged  the  Steam 
to  warn  the  Port  of  New  York  of  their  arrival.  'Tell 
those  big  boats  all  about  us,'  they  said.  'They  seem  to 
take  us  quite  as  a  matter  of  course.' 

It  was  a  glorious,  clear,  dead  calm  morning,  and  in 
single  file,  with  less  than  half  a  mile  between  each,  their 
bands  playing  and  their  tug-boats  shouting  and  waving 
handkerchiefs,  were  the  'Majestic,'  the  'Paris,'  the 
'Touraine,'  the  'Servia,'  the  'Kaiser  Wilhelm  II.,'  and 
the  'Werkendam,'  all  statelily  going  out  to  sea.  As 
the  'Dimbula'  shifted  her  helm  to  give  the  great  boats 
clear  way,  the  Steam  (who  knows  far  too  much  to  mind 
making  an  exhibition  of  himself  now  and  then)  shouted : 

'Oyez!  Oyez!  Oyez!  Princes,  Dukes,  and  Barons 
of  the  High  Seas!  Know  ye  by  these  presents,  we  are 
the  "Dimbula, "  fifteen  days  nine  hours  from  Liverpool, 
having  crossed  the  Atlantic  with  three  thousand  ton  of 
cargo  for  the  first  time  in  our  career!  We  have  not 
foundered.  We  are  here.  'Eer!  'Eer!  We  are  not 
disabled.  But  we  have  had  a  time  wholly  unparalleled 
in  the  annals  of  shipbuilding!  Our  decks  were  swept! 
We  pitched;  we  rolled!  We  thought  we  were  going  to 
die!  Hi!  Hi!  But  we  didn't.  We  wish  to  give  notice 
that  we  have  come  to  New  York  all  the  way  across 
the  Atlantic,  through  the  worst  weather  in  the  world; 
and  we  are  the  "Dimbula"!  We  are — arr — ha — ha — 
ha-r-r-r!' 

91 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

The  beautiful  line  of  boats  swept  by  as  steadily  as 
the  procession  of  the  Seasons.  The  'Dimbula'  heard 
the  'Majestic'  say,  'Hmph!'  and  the  'Paris'  grunted, 
'How!'  and  the  'Touraine'  said,  'Oui!'  with  a  little  co- 
quettish flicker  of  steam;  and  the  'Servia'  said,  'Haw!' 
and  the  'Kaiser'  and  the  'Werkendam'  said,  'Hoch!' 
Dutch-fashion — and  that  was  absolutely  all. 

'I  did  my  best,'  said  the  Steam,  gravely,  'but  I  don't 
think  they  were  much  impressed  with  us,  somehow. 
Do  you?' 

'It's  simply  disgusting,'  said  the  bow^-plates.  'They 
might  have  seen  what  we've  been  through.  There  isn't 
a  ship  on  the  sea  that  has  suffered  as  we  have — is  there, 
now?' 

'Well,  I  wouldn't  go  so  far  as  that,'  said  the  Steam, 
'because  I've  worked  on  some  of  those  boats,  and  sent 
them  through  weather  quite  as  bad  as  the  fortnight  that 
we've  had,  in  six  days;  and  some  of  them  are  a  little 
over  ten  thousand  tons,  I  believe.  Now  I've  seen  the 
"Majestic,"  for  instance,  ducked  from  her  bows  to  her 
funnel;  and  I've  helped  the  "Arizona,"  I  think  she  was, 
to  back  off  an  iceberg  she  met  with  one  dark  night;  and 
I  had  to  run  out  of  the  "Paris's"  engine-room,  one  day, 
because  there  was  thirty  foot  of  water  in  it.  Of  course, 
I  don't  deny — '  The  Steam  shut  off  suddenly,  as  a  tug- 
boat, loaded  with  a  political  club  and  a  brass  band,  that 
had  been  to  see  a  New  York  Senator  off  to  Europe, 
crossed  their  bows,  going  to  Hoboken.  There  was  a 
long  silence  that  reached,  without  a  break,  from  the  cut- 
water to  the  propeller-blades  of  the  'Dimbula.' 

Then  a  new,  big  voice  said  slowly  and  thickly,  as 
though  the  owner  had  just  waked  up:  'It's  my  convic- 
tion that  I  have  made  a  fool  of  myself.' 

92 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

The  Steam  knew  what  had  happened  at  once;  for 
when  a  ship  finds  herself  all  the  talking  of  the  separate 
pieces  ceases  and  melts  into  one  voice,  which  is  the  soul 
of  the  ship. 

'Who  are  you?'  he  said,  with  a  laugh. 

T  am  the  "Dimbula,"of  course.  Eve  never  been  any- 
thing else  except  that — and  a  fool!' 

The  tug-boat,  which  was  doing  its  very  best  to  be  run 
down,  got  away  just  in  time,  its  band  playing  clashily 
and  brassily  a  popular  but  impolite  air: 

In  the  days  of  old  Rameses— are  you  on? 

In  the  days  of  old  Rameses — are  you  on? 

In  the  days  of  old  Rameses, 

That  story  had  paresis. 

Are  you  on — are  you  on — are  you  on? 

'Well,  I'm  glad  you've  found  yourself,'  said  the 
Steam.  'To  tell  the  truth  I  was  a  little  tired  of  talking 
to  all  those  ribs  and  stringers.  Here's  Quarantine. 
After  that  we'll  go  to  our  wharf  and  clean  up  a  little, 
and — next  month  we'll  do  it  all  over  again.' 


93 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

(1897) 

SOME  people  will  tell  you  that  if  there  were  but  a 
single  loaf  of  bread  in  all  India  it  would  be  di- 
vided equally  between  the  Plowdens,  the  Trevors, 
the  Beadons,  and  the  Rivett-Carnacs.  That  is  only 
one  way  of  saying  that  certain  families  serve  India 
generation  after  generation  as  dolphins  follow  in  line 
across  the  open  sea. 

Let  us  take  a  small  and  obscure  case.  There  has  been 
at  least  one  representative  of  the  Devonshire  Chinns  in 
or  near  Central  India  since  the  days  of  Lieutenant- 
Fireworker  Humphrey  Chinn,  of  the  Bombay  European 
Regiment,  who  assisted  at  the  capture  of  Seringapa- 
tam  in  1799.  Alfred  Ellis  Chinn,  Humphrey's  younger 
brother,  commanded  a  regiment  of  Bombay  grenadiers 
from  1804  to  1813,  when  he  saw  some  mixed  fighting; 
and  in  1834  John  Chinn  of  the  same  family — we  will  call 
him  John  Chinn  the  First — came  to  light  as  a  level- 
headed administrator  in  time  of  trouble  at  a  place  called 
Mundesur.  He  died  young,  but  left  his  mark  on  the 
new  country,  and  the  Honourable  the  Board  of  Directors 
of  the  Honourable  the  East  India  Company  embodied 
his  virtues  in  a  stately  resolution,  and  paid  for  the  ex- 
penses of  his  tomb  among  the  Satpura  hills. 

He  was  succeeded  by  his  son,  Lionel  Chinn,  who  left 

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THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

the  little  old  Devonshire  home  just  in  time  to  be  severely 
wounded  in  the  Mutiny.  He  spent  his  working  life 
within  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  John  Chinn's  grave, 
and  rose  to  the  command  of  a  regiment  of  small,  wild 
hill-men,  most  of  whom  had  known  his  father.  His  son 
John  was  born  in  the  small  thatched-roofed,  mud-walled 
cantonment,  which  is,  even  to-day,  eighty  miles  from 
the  nearest  railway,  in  the  heart  of  a  scrubby,  tigerish 
country.  Colonel  Lionel  Chinn  served  thirty  years  and 
retired.  In  the  Canal  his  steamer  passed  the  outward- 
bound  troopship  carrying  his  son  John  Chinn  the  Second 
eastward  to  the  family  duties. 

The  Chinns  are  luckier  than  most  folk,  because  they 
know  exactly  what  they  must  do.  A  clever  Chinn 
passes  for  the  Bombay  Civil  Service,  and  gets  away  to 
Central  India,  where  everybody  is  glad  to  see  him.  A 
dull  Chinn  enters  the  Police  Department  or  the  Woods 
and  Forests,  and  sooner  or  later  he,  too,  appears  in 
Central  India,  and  that  is  what  gave  rise  to  the  saying, 
'Central  India  is  inhabited  by  Bhils,  Mairs,  and  Chinns, 
all  very  much  alike.'  The  breed  is  small-boned,  dark, 
and  silent,  and  the  stupidest  of  them  are  good  shots. 
John  Chinn  the  Second  was  rather  clever,  but  as  the 
eldest  son  he  entered  the  army,  according  to  Chinn  tra- 
dition. His  duty  was  to  abide  in  his  father's  regiment 
for  the  term  of  his  natural  life,  though  the  corps  was  one 
which  most  men  would  have  paid  heavily  to  avoid. 
They  were  irregulars,  small,  dark,  and  blackish,  clothed 
in  rifle-green  with  black-leather  trimmings;  and  friends 
called  them  the  'Wuddars,'  which  means  a  race  of  low- 
caste  people  who  dig  up  rats  to  eat.  But  the  Wuddars 
did  not  resent  it.  They  were  the  only  Wuddars,  and 
their  points  of  pride  were  these: 

95 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

Firstly,  they  had  fewer  EngUsh  officers  than  any 
native  regiment.  Secondly,  their  subalterns  were  not 
mounted  on  parade,  as  is  the  general  rule,  but  walked 
at  the  head  of  their  men.  A  man  who  can  hold  his  own 
with  the  Wuddars  at  their  quickstep  must  be  sound  in 
wind  and  limb.  Thirdly,  they  were  the  most  pukka 
shikarries  (out-and-out  hunters)  in  all  India.  Fourthly 
—up  to  one  hundredthly — they  were  the  Wuddars — 
Chinn's  Irregular  Bhil  Levies  of  the  old  days,  but  now, 
henceforward  and  for  ever,  the  Wuddars. 

No  Englishman  entered  their  mess  except  for  love 
or  through  family  usage.  The  officers  talked  to  their 
soldiers  in  a  tongue  not  two  hundred  white  folk  in  India 
understood;  and  the  men  were  their  children,  all  drawn 
from  the  Bhils,  who  are,  perhaps,  the  strangest  of  the 
many  strange  races  in  India.  They  were,  and  at  heart 
are,  wild  men,  furtive,  shy,  full  of  untold  superstitions. 
The  races  whom  we  call  natives  of  the  country  found 
the  Bhil  in  possession  of  the  land  when  they  first  broke 
into  that  part  of  the  world  thousands  of  years  ago. 
The  books  call  them  Pre-Aryan,  Aboriginal,  Dravidian, 
and  so  forth;  and,  in  other  words,  that  is  what  the  Bhils 
call  themselves.  When  a  Rajput  chief,  whose  bards 
can  sing  his  pedigree  backwards  for  twelve  hundred 
years,  is  set  on  the  throne,  his  investiture  is  not  com- 
plete till  he  has  been  marked  on  the  forehead  with  blood 
from  the  veins  of  a  Bhil.  The  Rajputs  say  the  cere- 
mony has  no  meaning,  but  the  Bhil  knows  that  it  is  the 
last,  last  shadow  of  his  old  rights  as  the  long-ago  owner 
of  the  soil. 

Centuries  of  oppression  and  massacre  made  the  Bhil  a 
cruel  and  half-crazy  thief  and  cattle-stealer,  and  when 
the  English  came  he  seemed  to  be  almost  as  open  to 

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THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

civilisation  as  tlic  tigers  of  his  own  jungles.  But  John 
Chinn  the  First,  father  of  Lionel,  grandfather  of  our 
John,  went  into  his  country,  lived  with  him,  learned  his 
language,  shot  the  deer  that  stole  his  poor  crops,  and 
won  his  confidence,  so  that  some  Bhils  learned  to  plough 
and  sow,  while  others  were  coaxed  into  the  Company's 
service  to  police  their  friends. 

When  they  understood  that  standing  in  line  did  not 
mean  instant  execution,  they  accepted  soldiering  as  a 
cumbrous  but  amusing  kind  of  sport,  and  were  zealous 
to  keep  the  wild  Bhils  under  control.  That  was  the  thin 
edge  of  the  wedge.  John  Chinn  the  First  gave  them 
written  promises  that,  if  they  were  good  from  a  certain 
date,  the  Government  would  overlook  previous  off ences ; 
and  since  John  Chinn  was  never  known  to  break  his 
word — he  promised  once  to  hang  a  Bhil  locally  esteemed 
invulnerable,  and  hanged  him  in  front  of  his  tribe  for 
seven  proved  murders — the  Bhils  settled  down  as  steadily 
as  they  knew  how.  It  was  slow,  unseen  work,  of  the 
sort  that  is  being  done  all  over  India  to-day;  and  though 
John  Chinn' s  only  reward  came,  as  I  have  said,  in  the 
shape  of  a  grave  at  Government  expense,  the  little  peo- 
ple of  the  hills  never  forgot  him. 

Colonel  Lionel  Chinn  knew  and  loved  them  too,  and 
they  were  very  fairly  civilised,  for  Bhils,  before  his 
service  ended.  Many  of  them  could  hardly  be  distin- 
guished from  low-caste  Hindoo  farmers;  but  in  the 
south,  where  John  Chinn  the  First  was  buried,  the  wild- 
est still  clung  to  the  Satpura  ranges,  cherishing  a  legend 
that  some  day  Jan  Chinn,  as  they  called  him,  would  re- 
turn to  his  own.  In  the  meantime  they  mistrusted  the 
white  man  and  his  ways.  The  least  excitement  would 
stampede  them  plundering  at  random,  and  now  and 

97 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

then  killing;  but  if  they  were  handled  discreetly  they 
grieved  like  children,  and  promised  never  to  do  it  again. 

The  Bhils  of  the  regiment— the  uniformed  men- 
were  virtuous  in  many  ways,  but  they  needed  humour- 
ing. They  felt  bored  and  homesick  unless  taken  after 
tigers  as  beaters;  and  their  cold-blooded  daring — all 
Wuddars  shoot  tigers  on  foot:  it  is  their  caste-mark — 
made  even  the  ofTicers  wonder.  They  would  follow  up 
a  wounded  tiger  as  unconcernedly  as  though  it  were  a 
sparrow  with  a  broken  wing;  and  this  through  a  country 
full  of  caves  and  rifts  and  pits,  where  a  wild  beast  could 
hold  a  dozen  men  at  his  mercy.  Now  and  then  some 
little  man  was  brought  to  barracks  with  his  head  smashed 
in  or  his  ribs  torn  away;  but  his  companions  never 
learned  caution.  They  contented  themselves  with  set- 
tling the  tiger. 

Young  John  Chinn  was  decanted  at  the  veranda  of 
the  Wuddars'  lonely  mess-house  from  the  back  seat  of  a 
two-wheeled  cart,  his  gun-cases  cascading  all  round  him. 
The  slender,  little,  hookey-nosed  boy  looked  forlorn  as  a 
strayed  goat  when  he  slapped  the  white  dust  off  his 
knees,  and  the  cart  jolted  down  the  glaring  road.  But 
in  his  heart  he  was  contented.  After  all,  this  was  the 
place  where  he  had  been  born,  and  things  were  not  much 
changed  since  he  had  been  sent  to  England,  a  child, 
fifteen  years  ago. 

There  were  a  few  new  buildings,  but  the  air  and  the 
smell  and  the  sunshine  were  the  same;  and  the  little 
green  men  who  crossed  the  parade-ground  looked  very 
familiar.  Three  weeks  ago  John  Chinn  would  have  said 
he  did  not  remember  a  word  of  the  Bhil  tongue,  but  at 
the  mess-door  he  found  his  lips  moving  in  sentences  that 
he  did  not  understand — bits  of  old  nursery  rhymes,  and 

98 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

tail-ends  of  such  orders  as  his  father  used  to  give  the 
men. 

The  Colonel  watched  him  come  up  the  steps,  and 
laughed. 

'Look!'  he  said  to  the  Major.  'No  need  to  ask  the 
young  un's  breed.  He's  a  pukka  Chinn.  Might  be  his 
father  in  the  Fifties  over  again.' 

'Hope  he'll  shoot  as  straight,'  said  the  Major.  'He's 
brought  enough  ironmongery  with  him.' 

'  'Wouldn't  be  a  Chinn  if  he  didn't.  Watch  him 
blowin'  his  nose.  Regular  Chinn  beak.  Flourishes  his 
handkerchief  like  his  father.  It's  the  second  edition- 
line  for  line.' 

'Fairy  tale,  by  Jove!'  said  the  Major,  peering  through 
the  slats  of  the  jalousies.  'If  he's  the  lawful  heir,  he'll 
.  .  .  Now  old  Chinn  could  no  more  pass  that  chick 
without  fiddling  with  it  than     .     .     . 

'His  son!'  said  the  Colonel,  jumping  up. 

'Well,  I  be  blowed!'  said  the  Major.  The  boy's  eye 
had  been  caught  by  a  split  reed  screen  that  hung  on  a 
slew  between  the  veranda  pillars,  and  mechanically  he 
had  tweaked  the  edge  to  set  it  level.  Old  Chinn  had 
sworn  three  times  a  day  at  that  screen  for  many  years ; 
he  could  never  get  it  to  his  satisfaction.  His  son  en- 
tered the  anteroom  in  the  middle  of  a  five-fold  silence. 
They  made  him  welcome  for  his  father's  sake  and,  as 
they  took  stock  of  him,  for  his  own.  He  was  ridicu- 
lously like  the  portrait  of  the  Colonel  on  the  wall,  and 
when  he  had  washed  a  little  of  the  dust  from  his  throat 
he  went  to  his  quarters  with  the  old  man's  short,  noise- 
less jungle-step. 

'So  much  for  heredity,'  said  the  Major.  'That  comes 
of  three  generations  among  the  Bhils.' 

99 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'  And  the  men  know  it,'  said  a  Wing-officer.  '  They've 
been  waiting  for  this  youth  with  their  tongues  hanging 
out.  I  am  persuaded  that,  unless  he  absolutely  beats 
'em  over  the  head,  they'll  lie  down  by  companies  and 
worship  him.' 

'Nothin'  like  havin'  a  father  before  you,'  said  the 
Major.  *rm  a  parvenu  with  my  chaps.  I've  only 
been  twenty  years  in  the  regiment,  and  my  revered 
parent  he  was  a  simple  squire.  There's  no  getting  at 
the  bottom  of  a  Bhil's  mind.  Now,  why  is  the  superior 
bearer  that  young  Chin  brought  with  him  fleeing  across 
country  with  his  bundle? '  He  stepped  into  the  veranda, 
and  shouted  after  the  man — a  typical  new-joined  sub- 
altern's servant  who  speaks  English  and  cheats  his  mas- 
ter. 

'What  is  it?' he  called. 

'Plenty  bad  men  here.  I  going,  sar,'  was  the  reply. 
'Have  taken  Sahib's  keys,  and  say  will  shoot.' 

'Doocid  lucid — doocid  convincin'.  How  those  up- 
country  thieves  can  leg  it !  He  has  been  badly  frightened 
by  some  one.'  The  Major  strolled  to  his  quarters  to 
dress  for  mess. 

Young  Chinn,  walking  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  had 
fetched  a  compass  round  the  entire  cantonment  before 
going  to  his  own  tiny  cottage.  The  captain's  quarters, 
in  which  he  had  been  born,  delayed  him  for  a  little;  then 
he  looked  at  the  well  on  the  parade-ground,  where  he  had 
sat  of  evenings  with  his  nurse,  and  at  the  ten-by-four- 
teen  church,  where  the  oflficers  went  to  service  if  a  chap- 
lain of  any  official  creed  happened  to  come  along.  It 
seemed  very  small  compared  with  the  gigantic  building 
he  used  to  stare  up  at,  but  it  was  the  same  place. 

From  time  to  time  he  passed  a  knot  of  silent  soldiers, 

100 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

who  saluted.  They  might  have  been  the  very  men  who 
had  carried  him  on  their  backs  when  he  was  in  his  first 
knickerbockers.  A  faint  Hght  burned  in  his  room,  and, 
as  he  entered,  hands  clasped  his  feet,  and  a  voice  mur- 
mured from  the  floor. 

'Who  is  it?'  said  young  Chinn,  not  knowing  that  he 
spoke  in  the  Bhil  tongue. 

'I  bore  you  in  my  arms.  Sahib,  when  I  was  a  strong 
man  and  you  were  a  small  one — crying,  crying,  crying! 
I  am  your  servant,  as  I  was  your  father's  before  you. 
We  are  all  your  servants.' 

Young  Chinn  could  not  trust  himself  to  reply,  and  the 
voice  went  on : 

'  I  have  taken  your  keys  from  that  fat  foreigner,  and 
sent  him  away;  and  the  studs  are  in  the  shirt  for  mess. 
Who  should  know,  if  I  do  not  know?  And  so  the  baby 
has  become  a  man,  and  forgets  his  nurse;  but  my  nephew 
shall  make  a  good  servant,  or  I  will  beat  him  twice  a  day.' 

Then  there  rose  up,  with  a  rattle,  as  straight  as  a  Bhil 
arrow,  a  little  white-haired  wizened  ape  of  a  man,  with 
medals  and  orders  on  his  tunic,  stammering,  saluting, 
and  trembling.  Behind  him  a  young  and  wiry  Bhil,  in 
uniform,  was  taking  the  trees  out  of  Chinn's  mess-boots. 

Chinn's  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  The  old  man  held 
out  his  keys. 

'Foreigners  are  bad  people.  He  will  never  come 
back  again.  W>  are  all  servants  of  your  father's  son. 
Has  the  Sahib  forgotten  who  took  him  to  see  the  trapped 
tiger  in  the  village  across  the  river,  when  his  mother  was 
so  frightened  and  he  was  so  brave? ' 

The  scene  came  back  to  Chinn  in  great  magic-lan- 
tern flashes.  'Bukta!'  he  cried;  and  all  in  a  breath: 
'You  promised  nothing  should  hurt  me.     Is  it  Bukta?' 

101 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

The  man  was  at  his  feet  a  second  time.  *He  has  not 
forgotten.  He  remembers  his  own  people  as  his  father 
remembered.  Now  can  I  die.  But  first  I  will  live  and 
show  the  Sahib  how  to  kill  tigers.  That  that  yonder 
is  my  nephew.  If  he  is  not  a  good  servant,  beat  him 
and  send  him  to  me,  and  I  wall  surely  kill  him,  for  now 
the  Sahib  is  with  his  own  people.  Ai,  Jan  baba — Jan 
baba!  My  Jan  baba!  I  will  stay  here  and  see  that 
this  does  his  work  well.  Take  off  his  boots,  fool.  Sit 
down  upon  the  bed.  Sahib,  and  let  me  look.  It  is  Jan 
baba?' 

He  pushed  forward  the  hilt  of  his  sword  as  a  sign  of 
service,  which  is  an  honour  paid  only  to  viceroys,  gov- 
ernors, generals,  or  to  little  children  whom  one  loves 
dearly.  Chinn  touched  the  hilt  mechanically  with 
three  fmgers,  muttering  he  knew  not  what.  It  hap- 
pened to  be  the  old  answer  of  his  childhood,  when  Bukta 
in  jest  called  him  the  little  General  Sahib. 

The  Major's  quarters  were  opposite  Chinn' s,  and  when 
he  heard  his  servant  gasp  with  surprise  he  looked 
across  the  room.  Then  the  Major  sat  on  the  bed  and 
whistled;  for  the  spectacle  of  the  senior  native  com- 
missioned officer  of  the  regiment,  an  'unmixed'  Bhil, 
a  Companion  of  the  Order  of  British  India,  with  thirty- 
five  years'  spotless  service  in  the  army,  and  a  rank 
among  his  own  people  superior  to  that  of  many  Bengal 
princelings,  valeting  the  last-joined  subaltern,  was  a  little 
too  much  for  his  nerves. 

The  throaty  bugles  blew  the  Mess-call  that  has  a  long 
legend  behind  it.  First  a  few  piercing  notes  like  the 
shrieks  of  beaters  in  a  far-away  cover,  and  next,  large, 
full,  and  smooth,  the  refrain  of  the  wild  song:  'And  oh, 
and  oh,  the  green  pulse  of  Mundore — Mundore ! ' 

102 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

'All  little  children  were  in  bed  when  the  Sahib  heard 
that  call  last,'  said  Bukta,  passing  Chinn  a  clean  hand- 
kerchief. The  call  brought  back  memories  of  his  cot 
under  the  mosquito-netting,  his  mother's  kiss,  and  the 
sound  of  footsteps  growing  fainter  as  he  dropped  asleep 
among  his  men.  So  he  hooked  the  dark  collar  of  his 
new  mess-jacket,  and  went  to  dinner  like  a  prince  who 
has  newly  inherited  his  father's  crown. 

Old  Bukta  swaggered  forth  curling  his  whiskers.  He 
knew  his  own  value,  and  no  money  and  no  rank  within 
the  gift  of  the  Government  would  have  induced  him  to 
put  studs  in  young  officers'  shirts,  or  to  hand  them 
clean  ties.  Yet,  when  he  took  off  his  uniform  that  night, 
and  squatted  among  his  fellows  for  a  quiet  smoke,  he 
told  them  what  he  had  done,  and  they  said  that  he  was 
entirely  right.  Thereat  Bukta  propounded  a  theory 
which  to  a  white  mind  would  have  seemed  raving  in- 
sanity; but  the  whispering,  level-headed  little  men  of 
war  considered  it  from  every  point  of  view,  and  thought 
that  there  might  be  a  great  deal  in  it. 

At  mess  under  the  oil-lamps  the  talk  turned  as  usual 
to  the  unfailing  subject  of  shikar — big-game  shooting 
of  every  kind  and  under  all  sorts  of  conditions.  Young 
Chinn  opened  his  eyes  when  he  understood  that  each 
one  of  his  companions  had  shot  several  tigers  in  the 
Wuddar  style — on  foot,  that  is — making  no  more  of  the 
business  than  if  the  brute  had  been  a  dog. 

'In  nine  cases  out  of  ten,'  said  the  Major,  'a  tiger  is 
almost  as  dangerous  as  a  porcupine.  But  the  tenth 
time  you  come  home  feet  first.' 

That  set  all  talking,  and  long  before  midnight  Chinn's 
brain  was  in  a  whirl  with  stories  of  tigers — man-eaters 
and  cattle-killers  each  pursuing  his  own  business  as 

103 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

methodically  as  clerks  in  an  office;  new  tigers  that  had 
lately  come  into  such-and-such  a  district;  and  old, 
friendly  beasts  of  great  cunning,  known  by  nicknames 
in  the  mess — such  as  'Puggy,'  who  was  lazy,  with  huge 
paws,  and  'Mrs.  Malaprop,'  who  turned  up  when  you 
never  expected  her,  and  made  female  noises.  Then 
they  spoke  of  Bhil  superstitions,  a  wide  and  picturesque 
field,  till  young  Chinn  hinted  that  they  must  be  pulling 
his  leg. 

'  'Deed  we  aren't,'  said  a  man  on  his  left.  'We  know 
all  about  you.  You're  a  Chinn  and  all  that,  and  you've 
a  sort  of  vested  right  here;  but  if  you  don't  believe  what 
we're  telling  you,  what  will  you  do  when  old  Bukta 
begins  his  stories?  He  knows  about  ghost-tigers,  and 
tigers  that  go  to  a  hell  of  their  own ;  and  tigers  that  walk 
on  their  hind  feet;  and  your  grandpapa's  riding-tiger,  as 
well.     Odd  he  hasn't  spoken  of  that  yet.' 

'You  know  you've  an  ancestor  buried  down  Satpura 
way,  don't  you?'  said  the  Major,  as  Chinn  smiled  irres- 
olutely. 

'Of  course  I  do,'  said  Chinn,  who  had  the  chronicle 
of  the  Book  of  Chinn  by  heart.  It  lies  in  a  worn  old 
ledger  on  the  Chinese  lacquer  table  behind  the  piano  in 
the  Devonshire  home,  and  the  children  are  allowed  to 
look  at  it  on  Sundays. 

*  Well,  I  wasn't  sure.  Your  revered  ancestor,  my  boy, 
according  to  the  Bhils,  has  a  tiger  of  his  own — a  sad- 
dle-tiger that  he  rides  round  the  country  whenever  he 
feels  inclined.  I  don't  call  it  decent  in  an  ex-Collector's 
ghost;  but  that  is  what  the  Southern  Bhils  believe. 
Even  our  men,  who  might  be  called  moderately  cool, 
don't  care  to  beat  that  country  if  they  hear  that  Jan 
Chinn  is  running  about  on  his  tiger.     It  is  supposed  to 

104 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

be  a  clouded  animal — not  slripy,  l)ut  blotchy,  like  a 
tortoise-shell  tom-cat.  No  end  of  a  brute,  it  is,  and  a 
sure  sign  of  war  or  pestilence  or — or  something.  There's 
a  nice  family  legend  for  you.' 

'What's  the  origin  of  it,  d'you  suppose?'  said  Chinn. 

'  Ask  the  Satpura  Bhils.  Old  Jan  Chinn  was  a  mighty 
hunter  before  the  Lord.  Perhaps  it  was  the  tiger's 
revenge,  or  perhaps  he's  huntin'  'em  still.  You  must 
go  to  his  tomb  one  of  these  days  and  inquire.  Bukta 
will  probably  attend  to  that.  He  was  asking  me  before 
you  came  whether  by  any  ill-luck  you  had  already 
bagged  your  tiger.  If  not,  he  is  going  to  enter  you  under 
his  own  wing.  Of  course,  for  you  of  all  men  it's  im- 
perative.    You'll  have  a  first-class  time  with  Bukta.' 

The  Major  was  not  wrong.  Bukta  kept  an  anxious 
eye  on  young  Chinn  at  drill,  and  it  was  noticeable  that 
the  first  time  the  new  officer  lifted  up  his  voice  in  an 
order  the  whole  line  quivered.  Even  the  Colonel  was 
taken  aback,  for  it  might  have  been  Lionel  Chinn  re- 
turned from  Devonshire  with  a  new  lease  of  life.  Bukta 
had  continued  to  develop  his  peculiar  theory  among 
his  intimates,  and  it  was  accepted  as  a  matter  of  faith 
in  the  lines,  since  every  word  and  gesture  on  young 
Chinn's  part  so  confirmed  it. 

The  old  man  arranged  early  that  his  darling  should 
wipe  out  the  reproach  of  not  having  shot  a  tiger;  but  he 
was  not  content  to  take  the  first  or  any  beast  that  hap- 
pened to  arrive.  In  his  own  villages  he  dispensed  the 
high,  low,  and  middle  justice,  and  when  his  people — 
naked  and  fluttered — came  to  him  with  word  of  a  beast 
marked  down,  he  bade  them  send  spies  to  the  kills  and 
the  watering-places,  that  he  might  be  sure  the  quarry 
was  such  an  one  as  suited  the  dignity  of  such  a  man. 

105 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

Three  or  four  times  the  reckless  trackers  returned, 
most  truthfully  saying  that  the  beast  was  mangy,  under- 
sized-— a  tigress  worn  with  nursing,  or  a  broken-toothed 
old  male — and  Bukta  would  curb  young  Chinn's  im- 
patience. 

At  last,  a  noble  animal  was  marked  down — a  ten-foot 
cattle-killer  with  a  huge  roll  of  loose  skin  along  the  belly, 
glossy-hided,  full-frilled  about  the  neck,  whiskered,  frisky, 
and  young.  He  had  slain  a  man  in  pure  sport,  they 
said. 

'Let  him  be  fed,'  quoth  Bukta,  and  the  villagers  duti- 
fully drove  out  cows  to  amuse  him,  that  he  might  lie  up 
near  by. 

Princes  and  potentates  have  taken  ship  to  India  and 
spent  great  moneys  for  the  mere  glimpse  of  beasts  one- 
half  as  fme  as  this  of  Bukta's. 

'It  is  not  good,'  said  he  to  the  Colonel,  when  he  asked 
for  shooting-leave,  'that  my  Colonel's  son  who  may  be 
— that  my  Colonel's  son  should  lose  his  maidenhead  on 
any  small  jungle  beast.  That  may  come  after.  I  have 
waited  long  for  this  which  is  a  tiger.  He  has  come  in 
from  the  Mair  country.  In  seven  days  we  will  return 
with  the  skin.' 

The  mess  gnashed  their  teeth  enviously.  Bukta, 
had  he  chosen,  might  have  invited  them  all.  But  he 
went  out  alone  with  Chinn,  two  days  in  a  shooting-cart 
and  a  day  on  foot,  till  they  came  to  a  rocky,  glary  valley 
with  a  pool  of  good  water  in  it.  It  was  a  parching  day, 
and  the  boy  very  naturally  stripped  and  went  in  for  a 
bathe,  leaving  Bukta  by  the  clothes.  A  white  skin 
shows  far  against  brown  jungle,  and  what  Bukta  beheld 
on  Chinn's  back  and  right  shoulder  dragged  him  forward 
step  by  step  with  staring  eyeballs. 

106 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

'I'd  forgotten  it  isn't  decent  to  strip  before  a  man  of 
his  position,'  said  Chinn,  flouncing  in  the  water.  'How 
the  little  devil  stares !     What  is  it,  Bukta? ' 

'The  Mark!'  was  the  whispered  answer. 

' It  is  nothing.  You  know  how  it  is  with  my  people!' 
Chinn  was  annoyed.  The  dull-red  birth-mark  on  his 
shoulder,  something  like  a  conventionalised  Tartar  cloud, 
had  slipped  his  memory,  or  he  would  not  have  bathed.  It 
occurred,  so  they  said  at  home,  in  alternate  generations, 
appearing,  curiously  enough,  eight  or  nine  years  after 
birth,  and,  save  that  it  was  part  of  the  Chinn  inheri- 
tance, would  not  be  considered  pretty.  He  hurried 
ashore,  dressed  again,  and  went  on  till  they  met  two  or 
three  Bhils,  who  promptly  fell  on  their  faces.  'My 
people,'  grunted  Bukta,  not  condescending  to  notice 
them.  'And  so  your  people,  Sahib.  When  I  was  a 
young  man  we  were  fewer,  but  not  so  weak.  Now  we 
are  many,  but  poor  stock.  As  may  be  remembered. 
How  will  you  shoot  him,  Sahib?  From  a  tree;  from  a 
shelter  which  my  people  shall  build;  by  day  or  by  night? ' 

'  On  foot  and  in  the  daytime,'  said  young  Chinn. 

*That  was  your  custom,  as  I  have  heard,'  said  Bukta 
to  himself.  '  I  will  get  news  of  him.  Then  you  and  I 
will  go  to  him.  I  will  carry  one  gun.  You  have  yours. 
There  is  no  need  of  more.  What  tiger  shall  stand  against 
thee?' 

He  was  marked  down  by  a  little  water-hole  at  the  head 
of  a  ravine,  full-gorged  and  half  asleep  in  the  May  sun- 
light. He  was  walked  up  like  a  partridge,  and  he  turned 
to  do  battle  for  his  life.  Bukta  made  no  motion  to  raise 
his  rifle,  but  kept  his  eyes  on  Chinn,  who  met  the  shat- 
tering roar  of  the  charge  with  a  single  shot — it  seemed 
to  him  hours  as  he  sighted — which  tore  through  the 

107 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

throat,  smashing  the  backbone  below  the  neck  and 
between  the  shoulders.  The  brute  crouched,  choked, 
and  fell,  and  before  Chinn  knew  well  what  had  hap- 
pened Bukta  bade  him  stay  still  while  he  paced  the 
distance  between  his  feet  and  the  ringing  jaws. 

'Fifteen,'  said  Bukta.  'Short  paces.  No  need  for  a 
second  shot,  Sahib.  He  bleeds  cleanly  where  he  lies, 
and  we  need  not  spoil  the  skin.  I  said  there  would  be 
no  need  of  these,  but  they  came — in  case.' 

Suddenly  the  sides  of  the  ravine  were  crowned  with 
the  heads  of  Bukta's  people — a  force  that  could  have 
blown  the  ribs  out  of  the  beast  had  Chinn's  shot  failed; 
but  their  guns  were  hidden,  and  they  appeared  as  in- 
terested beaters,  some  five  or  six,  waiting  the  word  to 
skin.  Bukta  watched  the  life  fade  from  the  wild  eyes, 
lifted  one  hand,  and  turned  on  his  heel. 

'No  need  to  show  that  we  care,'  said  he.  'Now,  after 
this,  we  can  kill  what  we  choose.  Put  out  your  hand. 
Sahib.' 

Chinn  obeyed.  It  was  entirely  steady,  and  Bukta 
nodded.  'That  also  was  your  custom.  My  men  skin 
quickly.  They  will  carry  the  skin  to  cantonments.  Will 
the  Sahib  come  to  my  poor  village  for  the  night  and, 
perhaps,  forget  that  I  am  his  officer? ' 

'But  those  men — the  beaters.  They  have  worked 
hard,  and  perhaps — ' 

'Oh,  if  they  skin  clumsily,  we  will  skin  them.  They 
are  my  people.  In  the  Lines  I  am  one  thing.  Here  I 
am  another.' 

This  was  very  true.  When  Bukta  doffed  uniform 
and  reverted  to  the  fragmentary  dress  of  his  own  people, 
he  left  his  civilisation  of  drill  in  the  next  world.  That 
night,  after  a  little  talk  with  his  subjects,  he  devoted 

108 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

to  an  orgie;  and  a  Bhil  orgie  is  a  thing  not  to  be  safely 
written  about.  Chinn,  flushed  with  triumph,  was  in  the 
thick  of  it,  but  the  meaning  of  the  mysteries  was  hidden. 
Wild  folk  came  and  pressed  about  his  knees  with  olTer- 
ings.  He  gave  his  flask  to  the  elders  of  the  village. 
They  grew  eloquent,  and  wreathed  him  about  with 
flowers.  Gifts  and  loans,  not  all  seemly,  were  thrust 
upon  him,  and  infernal  music  rolled  and  maddened 
round  red  fires,  while  singers  sang  songs  of  the  ancient 
times,  and  danced  peculiar  dances.  The  aboriginal 
liquors  are  very  potent,  and  Chinn  was  compelled  to 
taste  them  often,  but,  unless  the  stuff  had  been  drugged, 
how  came  he  to  fall  asleep  suddenly,  and  to  waken  late 
the  next  day — half  a  march  from  the  village? 

'The  Sahib  was  very  tired.  A  little  before  dawn  he 
went  to  sleep,'  Bukta  explained.  'My  people  carried 
him  here,  and  now  it  is  time  we  should  go  back  to  can- 
tonments.' 

The  voice,  smooth  and  deferential,  the  step,  steady 
and  silent,  made  it  hard  to  believe  that  only  a  few  hours 
before  Bukta  was  yelling  and  capering  with  naked  fellow- 
devils  of  the  scrub. 

'  My  people  were  very  pleased  to  see  the  Sahib.  They 
will  never  forget.  When  next  the  Sahib  goes  out  recruit- 
ing, he  will  go  to  my  people,  and  they  will  give  him  as 
many  men  as  we  need.' 

Chinn  kept  his  own  counsel,  except  as  to  the  shooting 
of  the  tiger,  and  Bukta  embroidered  that  tale  with  a 
shameless  tongue.  The  skin  was  certainly  one  of  the 
finest  ever  hung  up  in  the  mess,  and  the  first  of  many. 
When  Bukta*  could  not  accompany  his  boy  on  shoot- 
ing-trips, he  took  care  to  put  him  in  good  hands,  and 
Chinn  learned  more  of  the  mind  and  desire  of  the  wild 

109 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

Bhil  in  his  marches  and  campings,  by  talks  at  twilight 
or  at  wayside  pools,  than  an  uninstructed  man  could 
have  come  at  in  a  lifetime. 

Presently  his  men  in  the  regiment  grew  bold  to  speak 
of  their  relatives — mostly  in  trouble — and  to  lay  cases 
of  tribal  custom  before  him.  They  would  say,  squat- 
ting in  his  veranda  at  twilight,  after  the  easy,  confiden- 
tial style  of  the  Wuddars,  that  such-and-such  a  bachelor 
had  run  away  with  such-and-such  a  wife  at  a  far-off 
village.  Now,  how  many  cows  would  Chinn  Sahib 
consider  a  just  fine?  Or,  again,  if  written  order  came 
from  the  Government  that  a  Bhil  was  to  repair  to  a 
walled  city  of  the  plains  to  give  evidence  in  a  law-court, 
would  it  be  wise  to  disregard  that  order?  On  the  other 
hand,  if  it  were  obeyed,  would  the  rash  voyager  return 
alive? 

'  But  what  have  I  to  do  with  these  things? '  Chinn  de- 
manded of  Bukta,  impatiently.  '  I  am  a  soldier.  I  do 
not  know  the  Law.' 

'Hoo!  Law  is  for  fools  and  white  men.  Give  them 
a  large  and  loud  order  and  they  will  abide  by  it.  Thou 
art  their  Law.' 

'  But  wherefore? ' 

Every  trace  of  expression  left  Bukta's  countenance. 
The  idea  might  have  smitten  him  for  the  first  time. 
*How  can  I  say?'  he  replied.  *  Perhaps  it  is  on  account 
of  the  name.  A  Bhil  does  not  love  strange  things. 
Give  them  orders.  Sahib — two,  three,  four  words  at  a 
time — such  as  they  can  carry  away  in  their  heads. 
That  is  enough.' 

Chinn  gave  orders  then,  valiantly,  not  realising  that  a 
word  spoken  in  haste  before  mess  became  the  dread 
unappealable  law  of  villages  beyond  the  smoky  hills — 

110 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

was,  in  truth,  no  less  than  the  Law  of  Jan  Chinn  the 
First,  who,  so  the  whispered  legend  ran,  had  come  back 
to  earth  to  oversee  the  third  generation  in  the  body  and 
bones  of  his  grandson. 

There  could  be  no  sort  of  doubt  in  this  matter.  All 
the  Bhils  knew  that  Jan  Chinn  reincarnated  had  hon- 
oured Bukta's  village  with  his  presence  after  slaying  his 
first — in  this  life — tiger;  that  he  had  eaten  and  drunk 
with  the  people,  as  he  was  used;  and — Bukta  must  have 
drugged  Chinn's  liquor  very  deeply — upon  his  back  and 
right  shoulder  all  men  had  seen  the  same  angry  red 
Flying  Cloud  that  the  high  Gods  had  set  on  the  flesh  of 
Jan  Chinn  the  First  when  first  he  came  to  the  Bhil. 
As  concerned  the  foolish  white  world  which  has  no  eyes, 
he  was  a  slim  and  young  officer  in  the  Wuddars ;  but  his 
own  people  knew  he  was  Jan  Chinn,  who  had  made  the 
Bhil  a  man;  and,  believing,  they  hastened  to  carry  his 
words,  careful  never  to  alter  them  on  the  way. 

Because  the  savage  and  the  child  who  plays  lonely 
games  have  one  horror  of  being  laughed  at  or  questioned, 
the  little  folk  kept  their  convictions  to  themselves;  and 
the  Colonel,  who  thought  he  knew  his  regiment,  never 
guessed  that  each  one  of  the  six  hundred  quick-footed, 
beady-eyed  rank-and-file,  at  attention  beside  their  rifles, 
believed  serenely  and  unshakenly  that  the  subaltern  on 
the  left  flank  of  the  line  was  a  demigod  twice  born — 
tutelary  deity  of  their  land  and  people.  The  Earth- 
gods  themselves  had  stamped  the  incarnation,  and  who 
would  dare  to  doubt  the  handiwork  of  the  Earth-gods? 

Chinn,  being  practical  above  all  things,  saw  that  his 
family  name  served  him  well  in  the  lines  and  in  camp. 
His  men  gave  no  trouble — one  does  not  commit  regi- 
mental offences  with  a  god  in  the  chair  of  justice — and 

111 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

he  was  sure  of  the  best  beaters  in  the  district  when  he 
needed  them.  They  beheved  that  the  protection  of  Jan 
Chinn  the  First  cloaked  them,  and  were  bold  in  that 
belief  beyond  the  utmost  daring  of  excited  Bhils. 

His  quarters  began  to  look  like  an  amateur  natural- 
history  museum,  in  spite  of  duplicate  heads  and  horns 
and  skulls  that  he  sent  home  to  Devonshire.  The 
people,  very  humanly,  learned  the  weak  side  of  their 
god.  It  is  true  he  was  unbribable,  but  bird-skins, 
butterflies,  beetles,  and,  above  all,  news  of  big  game 
pleased  him.  In  other  respects,  too,  he  lived  up  to  the 
Chinn  tradition.  He  was  fever-proof.  A  night's  sit- 
ting out  over  a  tethered  goat  in  a  damp  valley,  that 
would  have  filled  the  Major  with  a  month's  malaria, 
had  no  effect  on  him.  He  was,  as  they  said,  'salted 
before  he  was  born.' 

Now  in  the  autumn  of  his  second  year's  service  an 
uneasy  rumour  crept  out  of  the  earth  and  ran  about 
among  the  Bhils.  Chinn  heard  nothing  of  it  till  a 
brother-officer  said  across  the  mess-table:  'Your  revered 
ancestor's  on  the  rampage  in  the  Satpura  country. 
You'd  better  look  him  up.' 

'  I  don't  want  to  be  disrespectful,  but  I'm  a  little  sick 
of  my  revered  ancestor.  Bukta  talks  of  nothing  else. 
What's  the  old  boy  supposed  to  be  doing  now?' 

'Riding  cross-country  by  moonlight  on  his  proces- 
sional tiger.  That's  the  story.  He's  been  seen  by  about 
two  thousand  Bhils,  skipping  along  the  tops  of  the 
Satpuras,  and  scaring  people  to  death.  They  believe  it 
devoutly,  and  all  the  Satpura  chaps  are  worshipping 
away  at  his  shrine — tomb,  I  mean — like  good  'uns. 
You  really  ought  to  go  down  there.  'Must  be  a  queer 
thing  to  see  your  grandfather  treated  as  a  god.' 

112 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

'What  makes  you  think  there's  any  truth  in  the  tale?' 
said  Chinn. 

'Because  all  our  men  deny  it.  They  say  they've 
never  heard  of  Chinn's  tiger.  Now  that's  a  manifest 
lie,  because  every  Bhil  has.' 

'There's  only  one  thing  you've  overlooked,'  said  the 
Colonel,  thoughtfully.  'When  a  local  god  reappears  on 
earth  it's  always  an  excuse  for  trouble  of  some  kind;  and 
those  Satpura  Bhils  are  about  as  wild  as  your  grand- 
father left  them,  young  'un.     It  means  something.' 

'Meanin'  they  may  go  on  the  war-path?'  said  Chinn. 

'  'Can't  say — as  yet.  'Shouldn't  be  surprised  one  little 
bit.' 

'I  haven't  been  told  a  syllable.' 

'  'Proves  it  all  the  more.  They  are  keeping  something 
back.' 

'Bukta  tells  me  everything,  too,  as  a  rule.  Now,  whjf 
didn't  he  tell  me  that?' 

Chinn  put  the  question  directly  to  the  old  man  that 
night,  and  the  answer  surprised  him. 

'Why  should  I  tell  what  is  well  known?  Yes,  the 
Clouded  Tiger  is  out  in  the  Satpura  country.' 

'What  do  the  wild  Bhils  think  that  it  means?' 

'  They  do  not  know.  They  wait.  Sahib,  what  is  com- 
ing?    Say  only  one  little  word,  and  we  will  be  content.' 

'We?  What  have  tales  from  the  south,  where  the 
jungly  Bhils  live,  to  do  with  drilled  men?' 

'When  Jan  Chinn  wakes  is  no  time  for  any  Bhil  to  be 
quiet.' 

'But  he  has  not  waked,  Bukta.' 

'Sahib' — the  old  man's  eyes  were  full  of  tender  re- 
proof— 'if  he  does  not  wish  to  be  seen,  why  does  he  go 
abroad  in  the  moonlight?     We  know  he  is  awake,  but 

113 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

we  do  not  know  what  he  desires.  Is  it  a  sign  for  all  the 
Bhils,  or  one  that  concerns  the  Satpura  folk  alone? 
Say  one  little  word,  Sahib,  that  I  may  carry  it  to  the 
lines,  and  send  on  to  our  villages.  Why  does  Jan  Chinn 
ride  out?  Who  has  done  wrong?  Is  it  pestilence?  Is 
it  murrain?  Will  our  children  die?  Is  it  a  sword? 
Remember,  Sahib,  we  are  thy  people  and  thy  servants, 
and  in  this  life  I  bore  thee  in  my  arms— not  knowing.' 

'Bukta  had  evidently  looked  on  the  cup  this  evening,' 
Chinn  thought;  'but  if  I  can  do  anything  to  soothe  the 
old  chap  I  must.  It's  like  the  Mutiny  rumours  on  a 
small  scale.' 

He  dropped  into  a  deep  wicker  chair,  over  which  was 
thrown  his  first  tiger-skin,  and  his  w^eight  on  the  cushion 
flapped  the  clawed  paws  over  his  shoulders.  He  laid 
hold  of  them  mechanically  as  he  spoke,  drawing  the 
painted  hide,  cloak-fashion,  about  him. 

'Now  will  I  tell  the  truth,  Bukta,'  he  said,  leaning 
forward,  the  dried  muzzle  on  his  shoulder,  to  invent  a 
specious  lie. 

'I  see  that  it  is  the  truth,'  was  the  answer,  in  a  shak- 
ing voice. 

'Jan  Chinn  goes  abroad  among  the  Satpuras,  riding 
on  the  Clouded  Tiger,  ye  say?  Be  it  so.  Therefore  the 
sign  of  the  wonder  is  for  the  Satpura  Bhils  only,  and  does 
not  touch  the  Bhils  who  plough  in  the  north  and  east, 
the  Bhils  of  the  Khandesh,  or  any  others,  except  the 
Satpura  Bhils,  who,  as  we  know,  are  wild  and  foolish.' 

*  It  is,  then,  a  sign  for  them.     Good  or  bad? ' 

*  Beyond  doubt,  good.  For  why  should  Jan  Chinn 
make  evil  to  those  whom  he  has  made  men?  The  nights 
over  yonder  are  hot;  it  is  ill  to  lie  in  one  bed  over  long 
without  turning,  and  Jan  Chinn  would  look  again  upon 

114 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

his  people.  So  he  rises,  whistles  his  Clouded  Tiger,  and 
goes  abroad  a  little  to  breathe  the  cool  air.  If  the  Sat- 
pura  Bhils  kept  to  their  villages,  and  did  not  wander 
after  dark,  they  would  not  see  him.  Indeed,  Bukta,  it 
is  no  more  than  that  he  would  see  the  light  again  in  his 
own  country.  Send  this  news  south,  and  say  that  it  is 
my  w^ord.' 

Bukta  bowed  to  the  floor.  '  Good  Heavens ! '  thought 
Chinn,  'and  this  blinking  pagan  is  a  first-class  officer, 
and  as  straight  as  a  die!  I  may  as  well  round  it  off 
neatly.'     He  went  on : 

'  If  the  Satpura  Bhils  ask  the  meaning  of  the  sign,  tell 
them  that  Jan  Chinn  would  see  how  they  kept  their  old 
promises  of  good  living.  Perhaps  they  have  plundered; 
perhaps  they  mean  to  disobey  the  orders  of  the  Govern- 
ment; perhaps  there  is  a  dead  man  in  the  jungle;  and  so 
Jan  Chinn  has  come  to  see.' 

'  Is  he,  then,  angry? ' 

'Bah!  Am  I  ever  angry  with  my  Bhils?  I  say  angry 
words,  and  threaten  many  things.  Thou  knowest, 
Bukta.  I  have  seen  thee  smile  behind  the  hand.  I 
know,  and  thou  knowest.  The  Bhils  are  my  children. 
I  have  said  it  many  times.' 

'  Ay.     We  be  thy  children,'  said  Bukta. 

'And  no  otherwise  is  it  with  Jan  Chinn,  my  father's 
father.  He  would  see  the  land  he  loved  and  the  people 
once  again.  It  is  a  good  ghost,  Bukta,  I  say  it.  Go 
and  tell  them.  And  I  do  hope  devoutly,'  he  added, 
'that  it  will  calm  'em  down.'  Flinging  back  the  tiger- 
skin,  he  rose  with  a  long,  unguarded  yawn  that  showed 
his  well-kept  teeth. 

Bukta  fled,  to  be  received  in  the  lines  by  a  knot  of 
panting  inquirers. 

115 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'It  is  true,'  said  Bukta.  'He  wrapped  himself  in  the 
skin  and  spoke  from  it.  He  would  see  his  own  country 
again.  The  sign  is  not  for  us;  and,  indeed,  he  is  a  young 
man.  How  should  he  lie  idle  of  nights?  He  says  his 
bed  is  too  hot  and  the  air  is  bad.  He  goes  to  and  fro  for 
the  love  of  night-running.     He  has  said  it.' 

The  gray-whiskered  assembly  shuddered. 

'He  says  the  Bhils  are  his  children.  Ye  know  he  does 
not  lie.     He  has  said  it  to  me.' 

'But  what  of  the  Satpura  Bhils?  What  means  the 
sign  for  them?' 

'Nothing.  It  is  only  night-running,  as  I  have  said. 
He  rides  to  see  if  they  obey  the  Government,  as  he 
taught  them  to  do  in  his  first  life.' 

'And  what  if  they  do  not?' 

'He  did  not  say.' 

The  light  went  out  in  Chinn's  quarters. 

'Look,'  said  Bukta.  'Now  he  goes  away.  None  the 
less  it  is  a  good  ghost,  as  he  has  said.  How  shall  we  fear 
Jan  Chinn,  who  made  the  Bhil  a  man?  His  protection 
is  on  us;  and  ye  know  Jan  Chinn  never  broke  a  protec- 
tion spoken  or  written  on  paper.  When  he  is  older  and 
has  found  him  a  wife  he  will  lie  in  his  bed  till  morning.' 

A  commanding  officer  is  generally  aware  of  the  regi- 
mental state  of  mind  a  little  before  the  men ;  and  this  is 
why  the  Colonel  said  a  few  days  later  that  some  one  had 
been  putting  the  fear  of  God  into  the  Wuddars.  As  he 
was  the  only  person  ofTicially  entitled  to  do  this,  it  dis- 
tressed him  to  see  such  unanimous  virtue.  'It's  too 
good  to  last,'  he  said.  'I  only  wish  I  could  find  out 
what  the  little  chaps  mean.' 

The  explanation,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  came  at  the 
change  of  the  moon,  when  he  received  orders  to  hold 

116 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

himself  in  readiness  to  'allay  any  possible  excitement' 
among  the  Satpura  Bhils,  who  were,  to  put  it  mildly, 
uneasy  because  a  paternal  Government  had  sent  up 
against  them  a  Mahratta  State-educated  vaccinator, 
with  lancets,  lymph,  and  an  officially  registered  calf.  In 
the  language  of  State,  they  had  'manifested  a  strong 
objection  to  all  prophylactic  measures,'  had  'forcibly 
detained  the  vaccinator,'  and  'were  on  the  point  of 
neglecting  or  evading  their  tribal  obligations.' 

'That  means  they  are  in  a  blue  funk — same  as  they 
were  at  census-time,'  said  the  Colonel;  'and  if  we  stam- 
pede them  into  the  hills  we'll  never  catch  'em,  in  the  first 
place,  and,  in  the  second,  they'll  whoop  off  plundering 
till  further  orders.  'Wonder  who  the  God-forsaken  idiot 
is  who  is  trying  to  vaccinate  a  Bhil.  I  knew  trouble 
was  coming.  One  good  thing  is  that  they'll  only  use 
local  corps,  and  we  can  knock  up  something  we'll  call  a 
campaign,  and  let  them  down  easy.  Fancy  us  potting 
our  best  beaters  because  they  don't  want  to  be  vac- 
cinated !     They're  only  crazy  with  fear.' 

'Don't  you  think,  sir,'  said  Chinn  the  next  day,  'that 
perhaps  you  could  give  me  a  fortnight's  shooting-leave? ' 

'Desertion  in  the  face  of  the  enemy,  by  Jove!'  The 
Colonel  laughed.  '  I  might,  but  I'd  have  to  antedate  it 
a  little,  because  we're  warned  for  service,  as  you  might 
say.  However,  we'll  assume  that  you  applied  for  leave 
three  days  ago,  and  are  now  well  on  your  way  south.' 

'  I'd  like  to  take  Bukta  with  me.' 

'Of  course,  yes.  I  think  that  will  be  the  best  plan. 
You've  some  kind  of  hereditary  influence  with  the  little 
chaps,  and  they  may  listen  to  you  when  a  glimpse  of  our 
uniforms  would  drive  them  wild.  You've  never  been 
in  that  part  of  the  world  before,  have  you?    Take  care 

117 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

they  don't  send  you  to  your  family  vault  in  your  youth 
and  innocence.  I  believe  you'll  be  all  right  if  you  can 
get  'em  to  listen  to  you.' 

'  I  think  so,  sir  ;but  if — if  they  should  accidentally  put  an 
— make  asses  of  'emselves — they  might,  you  know — I  hope 
you'll  represent  that  they  were  only  frightened.  There 
isn't  an  ounce  of  real  vice  in  'em,  and  I  should  never  forgive 
myself  if  any  one  of — of  my  name  got  them  into  trouble.' 

The  Colonel  nodded,  but  said  nothing. 

Chinn  and  Bukta  departed  at  once.  Bukta  did  not 
say  that,  ever  since  the  official  vaccinator  had  been 
dragged  into  the  hills  by  indignant  Bhils,  runner  after 
runner  had  skulked  up  to  the  lines,  entreating,  with  fore- 
head in  the  dust,  that  Jan  Chinn  should  come  and  ex- 
plain this  unknown  horror  that  hung  over  his  people. 

The  portent  of  the  Clouded  Tiger  was  now  too  clear. 
Let  Jan  Chinn  comfort  his  own,  for  vain  was  the  help  of 
mortal  man.  Bukta  toned  down  these  beseechings  to  a 
simple  request  for  Chinn's  presence.  Nothing  would 
have  pleased  the  old  man  better  than  a  rough-and- 
tumble  campaign  against  the  Satpuras,  whom  he,  as  an 
*  unmixed'  Bhil,  despised;  but  he  had  a  duty  to  all  his 
nation  as  Jan  Chinn's  interpreter,  and  he  devoutly 
believed  that  forty  plagues  would  fall  on  his  village  if 
he  tampered  with  that  obligation.  Besides,  Jan  Chinn 
knew  all  things,  and  he  rode  the  Clouded  Tiger. 

They  covered  thirty  miles  a  day  on  foot  and  pony, 
raising  the  blue  wall-like  line  of  the  Satpuras  as  swiftly 
as  might  be.     Bukta  was  very  silent. 

They  began  the  steep  climb  a  little  after  noon,  but  it 
was  near  sunset  ere  they  reached  the  stone  platform 
clinging  to  the  side  of  a  rifted,  jungle-covered  hill,  where 
Jan  Chinn  the  First  was  laid,  as  he  had  desired,  that  he 

118 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

might  overlook  his  people.  All  India  is  full  of  neglected 
graves  that  date  from  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth 
century — tombs  of  forgotten  colonels  of  corps  long 
since  disbanded;  mates  of  East  Indiamen  who  went  on 
shooting  expeditions  and  never  came  back;  factors, 
agents,  writers,  and  ensigns  of  the  Honourable  the  East 
India  Company  by  hundreds  and  thousands  and  tens 
of  thousands.  English  folk  forget  quickly,  but  natives 
have  long  memories,  and  if  a  man  has  done  good  in  his 
life  it  is  remembered  after  his  death.  The  weathered 
marble  four-square  tomb  of  Jan  Chinn  was  hung  about 
with  wild  flowers  and  nuts,  packets  of  wax  and  honey, 
bottles  of  native  spirits,  and  infamous  cigars,  with  buffalo 
horns  and  plumes  of  dried  grass.  At  one  end  was  a  rude 
clay  image  of  a  white  man,  in  the  old-fashioned  top-hat, 
riding  on  a  bloated  tiger. 

Bukta  salaamed  reverently  as  they  approached. 
Chinn  bared  his  head  and  began  to  pick  out  the  blurred 
inscription.  So  far  as  he  could  read  it  ran  thus — word 
for  word,  and  letter  for  letter: — 

To  the  Memory  of  John  Chinn,  Esq. 

Late  Collector  of 

....  ithout   Bloodshed    or  .  .  .  error   of   Authority 

Employ  .  only  .  .  eans  of  Conciliat  .  .  .  andConfiden. 

accomplished  the  .  .  .  tire  Subjection  .  .  . 

a  Lawless  and  Predatory  Peop  .  .  . 
....  taching  them  to  .  .  .  .  ish  Government 
by  a  Conque  .  .  over  ....  Minds 
The  most  perma  .  .  .  and  rational  Mode  of  Domini  .  . 
.  .  .  Governor-General  and  Counc  .  .  .  engal 

have  ordered  thi erected 

.  .  .  arted  this  Life  Aug.  19,  184  .  Ag  .  .  . 
119 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

On  the  other  side  of  the  grave  were  ancient  A^erses, 
also  very  worn.     As  much  as  Chinn  could  decipher  said : 

....  the  savage  band 
Forsook  their  Haunts  and  b  ....  is  Command 
....  mended  .  .  rals  check  a  .  .  .  st  for  spoil 
And  .  s  .  ing  Hamlets  prove  his  gene  ....  toil 

Humanit  .  .  .  survey ights  restore  .  . 

A  nation  .  .  ield  .  .  subdued  without  a  Sword. 

For  some  little  time  he  leaned  on  the  tomb  thinking  of 
this  dead  man  of  his  own  blood,  and  of  the  house  in 
Devonshire;  then,  nodding  to  the  plains:  'Yes;  it's  a  big 
work — all  of  it — even  my  little  share.  He  must  have 
been  worth  knowing.  .  .  .  Bukta,  where  are  my 
people?' 

'Not  here,  Sahib.  No  man  comes  here  except  in  full 
sun.     They  wait  above.     Let  us  climb  and  see.' 

But  Chinn,  remembering  the  first  law  of  Oriental 
diplomacy,  in  an  even  voice  answered:  'I  have  come 
this  far  only  because  the  Satpura  folk  are  foolish,  and 
dared  not  visit  our  lines.  Now  bid  them  wait  on  me 
here.     I  am  not  the  servant,  but  the  master  of  Bhils.' 

'  I  go — I  go,'  clucked  the  old  man.  Night  was  falling, 
and  at  any  moment  Jan  Chinn  might  whistle  up  his 
dreaded  steed  from  the  darkening  scrub. 

Now  for  the  first  time  in  a  long  life  Bukta  disobeyed 
a  lawful  command  and  deserted  his  leader;  for  he  did 
not  come  back,  but  pressed  to  the  flat  table-top  of  the 
hill,  and  called  softly.  Men  stirred  all  about  him — 
little  trembling  men  with  bows  and  arrows  who  had 
watched  the  two  since  noon. 

'  Where  is  he? '  whispered  one. 

120 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

'At  his  own  place.     He  bids  you  come,'  said  Bukta. 

'Now?' 

'Now.' 

'Rather  let  him  loose  the  Clouded  Tiger  upon  us. 
We  do  not  go.' 

'Nor  I,  though  I  bore  him  in  my  arms  when  he  was  a 
child  in  this  his  life.     Wait  here  till  the  day.' 

'But  surely  he  will  be  angry.' 

'  He  will  be  very  angry,  for  he  has  nothing  to  eat.  But 
he  has  said  to  me  many  times  that  the  Bhils  are  his 
children.  By  sunlight  I  believe  this,  but — by  moon- 
light I  am  not  so  sure.  What  folly  have  ye  Satpura 
pigs  compassed  that  ye  should  need  him  at  all? ' 

'  One  came  to  us  in  the  name  of  the  Government  with 
little  ghost-knives  and  a  magic  calf,  meaning  to  turn  us 
into  cattle  by  the  cutting  off  of  our  arms.  We  were 
greatly  afraid,  but  we  did  not  kill  the  man.  He  is  here, 
bound — a  black  man;  and  we  think  he  comes  from  the 
West.  He  said  it  was  an  order  to  cut  us  all  with  knives 
— especially  the  women  and  the  children.  We  did  not 
hear  that  it  was  an  order,  so  we  were  afraid,  and  kept  to 
our  hills.  Some  of  our  men  have  taken  ponies  and 
bullocks  from  the  plains,  and  others  pots  and  cloths  and 
ear-rings.' 

'  Are  any  slain? ' 

'By  our  men?  Not  yet.  But  the  young  men  are 
blown  to  and  fro  by  many  rumours  like  flames  upon  a 
hill.  I  sent  runners  asking  for  Jan  Chinn  lest  worse 
should  come  to  us.  It  was  this  fear  that  he  foretold  by 
the  sign  of  the  Clouded  Tiger.' 

'He  says  it  is  otherwise,'  said  Bukta;  and  he  repeated, 
with  amplifications,  all  that  young  Chinn  had  told  him 
at  the  conference  of  the  wicker  chair. 

121 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'Think  you,'  said  the  questioner,  at  last,  'that  the 
Government  will  lay  hands  on  us? ' 

'Not  I,'  Bukta  rejoined.  'Jan  Chinn  will  give  an 
order,  and  ye  will  obey.  The  rest  is  between  the  Gov- 
ernment and  Jan  Chinn.  I  myself  know  something  of 
the  ghost-knives  and  the  scratching.  It  is  a  charm 
against  the  Smallpox.  But  how  it  is  done  I  cannot  tell. 
Nor  need  that  concern  you.' 

'  If.  he  stands  by  us  and  before  the  anger  of  the  Gov- 
ernment we  will  most  strictly  obey  Jan  Chinn,  except — 
except  we  do  not  go  down  to  that  place  to-night.' 

They  could  hear  young  Chinn  below  them  shouting 
for  Bukta;  but  they  cowered  and  sat  still,  expecting  the 
Clouded  Tiger.  The  tomb  had  been  holy  ground  for 
nearly  half  a  century.  If  Jan  Chinn  chose  to  sleep  there, 
who  had  better  right?  But  they  would  not  come  within 
eyeshot  of  the  place  till  broad  day. 

At  first  Chinn  was  exceedingly  angry,  till  it  occurred 
to  him  that  Bukta  most  probably  had  a  reason  (which 
indeed,  he  had),  and  his  own  dignity  might  suffer  if  he 
yelled  without  answer.  He  propped  himself  against  the 
foot  of  the  grave,  and,  alternately  dozing  and  smoking, 
came  through  the  warm  night  proud  that  he  was  a  law- 
ful, legitimate,  fever-proof  Chinn. 

He  prepared  his  plan  of  action  much  as  his  grand- 
father would  have  done;  and  when  Bukta  appeared  in 
the  morning  with  a  most  liberal  supply  of  food,  said 
nothing  of  the  overnight  desertion.  Bukta  would  have 
been  relieved  by  an  outburst  of  human  anger;  but  Chinn 
finished  his  victual  leisurely,  and  a  cheroot,  ere  he  made 
any  sign. 

*They  are  very  much  afraid,'  said  Bukta,  who  was  not 
too  bold  himself.     'It  remains  only  to  give  orders. 

122 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

They  said  they  will  obey  if  thou  wilt  only  stand  between 
them  and  the  Government.' 

'That  I  know,'  said  Chinn,  strolHng  slowly  to  the 
tableland.  A  few  of  the  elder  men  stood  in  an  irregular 
semicircle  in  an  open  glade;  but  the  ruck  of  people — 
women  and  children — were  hidden  in  the  thicket.  They 
had  no  desire  to  face  the  first  anger  of  Jan  Chinn  the 
First. 

Seating  himself  on  a  fragment  of  split  rock,  he  smoked 
his  cheroot  to  the  butt,  hearing  men  breathe  hard  all 
about  him.   Then  he  cried,  so  suddenly  that  they  j  umped : 

'  Bring  the  man  that  was  bound ! ' 

A  scuffle  and  a  cry  were  followed  by  the  appearance 
of  a  Hindoo  vaccinator,  quaking  with  fear,  bound  hand 
and  foot,  as  the  Bhils  of  old  were  accustomed  to  bind 
their  human  sacrifices.  He  was  pushed  cautiously  before 
the  presence;  but  young  Chinn  did  not  look  at  him. 

'I  said — the  man  that  was  bound.  Is  it  a  jest  to 
bring  me  one  tied  like  a  buffalo?  Since  when  could  the 
Bhil  bind  folk  at  his  pleasure?     Cut ! ' 

Half  a  dozen  hasty  knives  cut  away  the  thongs,  and 
the  man  crawled  to  Chinn,  who  pocketed  his  case  of 
lancets  and  tubes  of  lymph.  Then,  sweeping  the  semi- 
circle with  one  comprehensive  forefinger,  and  in  the 
voice  of  compliment,  he  said,  clearly  and  distinctly: 
*Pigs!' 

'Ai!'  whispered  Bukta.  'Now  he  speaks.  Woe  to 
foolish  people ! ' 

'I  have  come  on  foot  from  my  house'  (the  assembly 
shuddered)  'to  make  clear  a  matter  which  any  other 

I  than  a  Satpura  Bhil  would  have  seen  with  both  eyes 
from  a  distance.  Ye  know  the  Smallpox,  who  pits  and 
scars  your  children  so  that  they  look  like  wasp-combs. 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

It  is  an  order  of  the  Government  that  whoso  is  scratched 
on  the  arm  with  these  little  knives  which  I  hold  up  is 
charmed  against  Her.  All  Sahibs  are  thus  charmed,  and 
very  many  Hindoos.  This  is  the  mark  of  the  charm. 
Look!' 

He  rolled  back  his  sleeve  to  the  armpit  and  showed 
the  white  scars  of  the  vaccination-mark  on  the  white 
skin.     'Come,  all,  and  look.' 

A  few  daring  spirits  came  up,  and  nodded  their  heads 
wisely.  There  was  certainly  a  mark,  and  they  knew 
well  what  other  dread  marks  were  hidden  by  the  shirt. 
Merciful  was  Jan  Chinn,  that  he  had  not  then  and  there 
proclaimed  his  godhead. 

'Now  all  these  things  the  man  whom  ye  bound  told 
you.' 

'I  did — a  hundred  times;  but  they  answered  with 
blows,'  groaned  the  operator,  chafmg  his  wrists  and 
ankles. 

'But,  being  pigs,  ye  did  not  believe;  and  so  came  I 
here  to  save  you,  first  from  Smallpox,  next  from  a  great 
folly  of  fear,  and  lastly,  it  may  be,  from  the  rope  and  the 
jail.  It  is  no  gain  to  me;  it  is  no  pleasure  to  me;  but  for 
the  sake  of  that  one  who  is  yonder,  who  made  the  Bhil  a 
man' — he  pointed  down  the  hill — 'I,  who  am  of  his 
blood,  the  son  of  his  son,  come  to  turn  your  people. 
And  I  speak  the  truth,  as  did  Jan  Chinn.' 

The  crowd  murmured  reverently,  and  men  stole  out 
of  the  thicket  by  twos  and  threes  to  join  it.  There  was 
no  anger  in  their  god's  face. 

'  These  are  my  orders.  (Heaven  send  they'll  take  'em, 
but  I  seem  to  have  impressed  them  so  far!)  I  myself 
will  stay  among  you  while  this  man  scratches  your  arms 
with  knives,  after  the  order  of  the  Government.     In 

124 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

three,  or  it  may  be  five  or  seven,  days,  your  arms  will 
swell  and  itch  and  burn.  That  is  the  power  of  Smallpox 
fighting  in  your  base  blood  against  the  orders  of  the 
Government.  I  will  therefore  stay  among  you  till  I  see 
that  Smallpox  is  conquered,  and  I  will  not  go  away  till 
the  men  and  the  women  and  the  little  children  show 
me  upon  their  arms  such  marks  as  I  have  even  now 
showed  you.  I  bring  with  me  two  very  good  guns,  and 
a  man  whose  name  is  known  among  beasts  and  men. 
We  will  hunt  together,  I  and  he,  and  your  young  men 
and  the  others  shall  eat  and  lie  still.     This  is  my  order.' 

There  was  a  long  pause  while  victory  hung  in  the 
balance.  A  white-haired  old  sinner,  standing  on  one 
uneasy  leg,  piped  up : 

'There  are  ponies  and  some  few  bullocks  and  other 
things  for  which  we  need  a  kowl  [protection].  They 
were  not  taken  in  the  way  of  trade.' 

The  battle  was  won,  and  John  Chinn  drew  a  breath  of 
relief.  The  young  Bhils  had  been  raiding,  but  if  taken 
swiftly  all  could  be  put  straight. 

*  I  will  write  a  kowl  as  soon  as  the  ponies,  the  bullocks, 
and  the  other  things  are  counted  before  me  and  sent 
back  whence  they  came.  But  first  we  will  put  the 
Government  mark  on  such  as  have  not  been  visited  by 
Smallpox.'  In  an  undertone,  to  the  vaccinator:  'If  you 
show  you  are  afraid  you'll  never  see  Poona  again,  my 
friend.' 

'  There  is  not  sufficient  ample  supply  of  vaccine  for  all 
this  population,'  said  the  man.  *They  have  destroyed 
the  offeecial  calf.' 

'They  won't  know  the  difference.  Scrape  'em  all 
round,  and  give  me  a  couple  of  lancets;  I'll  attend  to  the 
elders.' 

125 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

The  aged  diplomat  who  had  demanded  protection  was 
the  first  victim.  He  fell  to  Chinn's  hand,  and  dared 
not  cry  out.  As  soon  as  he  was  freed  he  dragged  up  a 
companion,  and  held  him  fast,  and  the  crisis  became,  as 
it  were,  a  child's  sport;  for  the  vaccinated  chased  the 
unvaccinated  to  treatment,  vowing  that  all  the  tribe 
must  suffer  equally.  The  women  shrieked,  and  the  chil- 
dren ran  howling;  but  Chinn  laughed,  and  waved  the 
pink-tipped  lancet. 

'It  is  an  honour,'  he  cried.  'Tell  them,  Bukta,  how 
great  an  honour  it  is  that  I  myself  should  mark  them. 
Nay,  I  cannot  mark  every  one — the  Hindoo  must  also 
do  his  work — but  I  will  touch  all  marks  that  he  makes, 
so  there  will  be  an  equal  virtue  in  them.  Thus  do  the 
Rajputs  stick  pigs.  Ho,  brother  with  one  eye!  Catch 
that  girl  and  bring  her  to  me.  She  need  not  run  away 
yet,  for  she  is  not  married,  and  I  do  not  seek  her  in  mar- 
riage. She  will  not  come?  Then  she  shall  be  shamed 
by  her  little  brother,  a  fat  boy,  a  bold  boy.  He  puts 
out  his  arm  like  a  soldier.  Look !  He  does  not  flinch 
at  the  blood.  Some  day  he  shall  be  in  my  regiment. 
And  now,  mother  of  many,  we  will  lightly  touch  thee, 
for  Smallpox  has  been  before  us  here.  It  is  a  true  thing, 
indeed,  that  this  charm  breaks  the  power  of  Mata. 
There  will  be  no  more  pitted  faces  among  the  Satpuras, 
and  so  ye  can  ask  many  cows  for  each  maid  to  be  wed.' 

And  so  on  and  so  on — quick-poured  showman's  patter, 
sauced  in  the  Bhil  hunting  proverbs  and  tales  of  their' 
own  brand  of  coarse  humour — till  the  lancets  weres 
blunted  and  both  operators  worn  out. 

But,  nature  being  the  same  the  world  over,  the  un- 
vaccinated grew  jealous  of  their  marked  comrades,  and 
came  near  to  blows  about  it.     Then  Chinn  declared 

126 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

himself  a  court  of  justice,  no  longer  a  medical  board,  and 
made  formal  inquiry  into  the  late  robberies. 

*We  are  the  thieves  of  Mahadeo,'  said  the  Bhils, 
simply.  *  It  is  our  fate,  and  we  were  frightened.  When 
we  are  frightened  we  always  steal.' 

Simply  and  directly  as  children,  they  gave  in  the  tale 
of  the  plunder,  all  but  two  bullocks  and  some  spirits 
that  had  gone  amissing  (these  Chinn  promised  to  make 
good  out  of  his  own  pocket),  and  ten  ringleaders  were 
despatched  to  the  lowlands  with  a  wonderful  document, 
written  on  the  leaf  of  a  note-book,  and  addressed  to  an 
assistant  district  superintendent  of  police.  There  was 
warm  calamity  in  that  note,  as  Jan  Chinn  warned  them, 
but  anything  was  better  than  loss  of  liberty. 

Armed  with  this  protection,  the  repentant  raiders 
went  down-hill.  They  had  no  desire  whatever  to  meet 
Mr.  Dundas  Fawne  of  the  Police,  aged  twenty-two,  and 
of  a  cheerful  countenance,  nor  did  they  wish  to  revisit 
the  scene  of  their  robberies.  Steering  a  middle  course, 
they  ran  into  the  camp  of  the  one  Government  chaplain 
allowed  to  the  various  irregular  corps  through  a  district 
of  some  fifteen  thousand  square  miles,  and  stood  before 
him  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  He  was  by  way  of  being  a  priest, 
they  knew,  and,  what  was  more  to  the  point,  a  good 
sportsman  who  paid  his  beaters  generously. 

When  he  read  Chinn's  note  he  laughed,  which  they 
deemed  a  lucky  omen,  till  he  called  up  policemen,  who 
tethered  the  ponies  and  the  bullocks  by  the  piled  house- 
gear,  and  laid  stern  hands  upon  three  of  that  smiling 
band  of  the  thieves  of  Mahadeo.  The  chaplain  himself 
addressed  them  magisterially  with  a  riding-whip.  That 
was  painful,  but  Jan  Chinn  had  prophesied  it.  They 
submitted,  but  would  not  give  up  the  written  protection, 

127 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

fearing  the  jail.  On  their  way  back  they  met  Mr.  D. 
Fawne,  who  had  heard  about  the  robberies,  and  was  not 
pleased. 

'Certainly,'  said  the  eldest  of  the  gang,  when  the 
second  interview  was  at  an  end,  'certainly  Jan  Chinn's 
protection  has  saved  us  our  liberty,  but  it  is  as  though 
there  were  many  beatings  in  one  small  piece  of  paper. 
Put  it  away.' 

One  climbed  into  a  tree,  and  stuck  the  letter  into  a 
cleft  forty  feet  from  the  ground,  where  it  could  do  no 
harm.  Warmed,  sore,  but  happy,  the  ten  returned  to 
Jan  Chinn  next  day,  where  he  sat  among  uneasy  Bhils, 
all  looking  at  their  right  arms,  and  all  bound  under 
terror  of  their  god's  disfavour  not  to  scratch. 

'It  was  a  good  kowl,'  said  the  leader.  'First  the 
chaplain,  who  laughed,  took  away  our  plunder,  and  beat 
three  of  us,  as  was  promised.  Next,  we  meet  Fawne 
Sahib,  who  frowned,  and  asked  for  the  plunder.  We 
spoke  the  truth,  and  so  he  beat  us  all,  one  after  another, 
and  called  us  chosen  names.  He  then  gave  us  these 
two  bundles' — they  set  down  a  bottle  of  whisky  and  a 
box  of  cheroots — '  and  we  came  away.  The  kowl  is  left 
in  a  tree,  because  its  virtue  is  that  so  soon  as  we  show 
it  to  a  Sahib  we  are  beaten.' 

'But  for  that  kowl,'  said  Jan  Chinn,  sternly,  *ye 
would  all  have  been  marching  to  jail  with  a  policeman 
on  either  side.  Ye  come  now  to  serve  as  beaters  for 
me.  These  people  are  unhappy,  and  we  will  go  hunting 
till  they  are  well.     To-night  we  will  make  a  feast.' 

It  is  written  in  the  chronicles  of  the  Satpura  Bhils, 
together  with  many  other  matters  not  fit  for  print,  that 
through  five  days,  after  the  day  that  he  had  put  his 
mark  upon  them,  Jan  Chinn  the  First  hunted  for  his 

128 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

people;  and  on  the  five  nights  of  those  days  the  tribe 
was  gloriously  and  entirely  drunk.  Jan  Chinn  bought 
country  spirits  of  an  awful  strength,  and  slew  wild  pig 
and  deer  beyond  counting,  so  that  if  any  fell  sick  they 
might  have  two  good  reasons. 

Between  head-  and  stomach-aches  they  found  no  time 
to  think  of  their  arms,  but  followed  Jan  Chinn  obedi- 
ently through  the  jungles,  and  with  each  day's  returning 
confidence  men,  women,  and  children  stole  away  to 
their  villages  as  the  little  army  passed  by.  They  carried 
news  that  it  was  good  and  right  to  be  scratched  with 
ghost-knives;  that  Jan  Chinn  was  indeed  reincarnated 
as  a  god  of  free  food  and  drink,  and  that  of  all  nations  the 
Satpura  Bhils  stood  first  in  his  favour,  if  they  would  only 
refrain  from  scratching.  Henceforward  that  kindly  demi- 
god would  be  connected  in  their  minds  with  great  gorgings 
and  the  vaccine  and  lancets  of  a  paternal  Government. 

'And  to-morrow  I  go  back  to  my  home,'  said  Jan 
Chinn  to  his  faithful  few,  whom  neither  spirits,  over- 
eating, nor  swollen  glands  could  conquer.  It  is  hard 
for  children  and  savages  to  behave  reverently  at  all  times 
to  the  idols  of  their  make-belief,  and  they  had  frolicked 
excessively  with  Jan  Chinn.  But  the  reference  to  his 
home  cast  a  gloom  on  the  people. 

'And  the  Sahib  will  not  come  again?'  said  he  who  had 
been  vaccinated  first. 

'That  is  to  be  seen,'  answered  Chinn,  warily. 

'Nay,  but  come  as  a  white  man — come  as  a  young 
man  whom  we  know  and  love;  for,  as  thou  alone  know- 
est,  we  are  a  weak  people.  If  we  again  saw  thy — thy 
horse — '     They  were  picking  up  their  courage. 

*  I  have  no  horse.  I  came  on  foot — with  Bukta,  yon- 
der.    What  is  this?' 

129 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'Thou  knowest — the  Thing  that  thou  hast  chosen  for 
a  night-horse.'  The  Uttle  men  squirmed  in  fear  and 
awe. 

'Night-horses?  Bukta,  what  is  this  last  tale  of  chil- 
dren?' 

Bukta  had  been  a  silent  leader  in  Chinn's  presence 
since  the  night  of  his  desertion,  and  was  grateful  for  a 
chance-flung  question. 

'  They  know,  Sahib,'  he  whispered.  '  It  is  the  Clouded 
Tiger.  That  which  comes  from  the  place  where  thou 
didst  once  sleep.  It  is  thy  horse— as  it  has  been  these 
three  generations.' 

'  My  horse !     That  was  a  dream  of  the  Bhils.' 

'It  is  no  dream.  Do  dreams  leave  the  tracks  of 
broad  pugs  on  earth?  Why  make  two  faces  before  thy 
people?  They  know  of  the  night-ridings,  and  they — 
and  they — ' 

'Are  afraid,  and  would  have  them  cease.' 

Bukta  nodded.  '  If  thou  hast  no  further  need  of  him. 
He  is  thy  horse.' 

'The  thing  leaves  a  trail,  then?'  said  Chinn. 

*W^e  have  seen  it.  It  is  like  a  village  road  under  the 
tomb.' 

*  Can  ye  find  and  follow  it  for  me? ' 

'By  daylight — if  one  comes  with  us,  and,  above  all, 
stands  near  by.' 

'  I  will  stand  close,  and  we  will  see  to  it  that  Jan  Chinn 
does  not  ride  any  more.' 

The  Bhils  shouted  the  last  words  again  and  again. 

From  Chinn's  point  of  view  the  stalk  was  nothing 
more  than  an  ordinary  one — down-hill,  through  split 
and  crannied  rocks,  unsafe,  perhaps,  if  a  man  did  not 
keep  his  wits  by  him,  but  no  worse  than  twenty  others 

130 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

he  had  undertaken.  Yet  his  men — they  refused  ab- 
solutely to  beat,  and  would  only  trail — dripped  sweat 
at  every  move.  They  showed  the  marks  of  enormous 
pugs  that  ran,  always  down-hill,  to  a  few  hundred  feet 
below  Jan  Chinn's  tomb,  and  disappeared  in  a  narrow- 
mouthed  cave.  It  was  an  insolently  open  road,  a  do- 
mestic highway,  beaten  without  thought  of  concealment. 

'The  beggar  might  be  paying  rent  and  taxes,'  Chinn 
muttered  ere  he  asked  whether  his  friend's  taste  ran  to 
cattle  or  man. 

'Cattle,'  was  the  answer.  'Two  heifers  a  week.  We 
drive  them  for  him  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  It  is  his  cus- 
tom.    If  we  did  not,  he  might  seek  us.' 

'Blackmail  and  piracy,'  said  Chinn.  'I  can't  say  I 
fancy  going  into  the  cave  after  him.    What's  to  be  done? ' 

The  Bhils  fell  back  as  Chinn  lodged  himself  behind  a 
rock  with  his  rifle  ready.  Tigers,  he  knew,  were  shy 
beasts,  but  one  who  had  been  long  cattle-fed  in  this 
sumptuous  style  might  prove  overbold. 

'  He  speaks ! '  some  one  whispered  from  the  rear.  '  He 
knows,  too.' 

'Well,  of  all  the  infernal  cheek!'  said  Chinn.  There 
was  an  angry  growl  from  the  cave — a  direct  challenge. 

'  Come  out,  then,'  Chinn  shouted.  '  Come  out  of  that ! 
Let's  have  a  look  at  you.' 

The  brute  knew  well  enough  that  there  was  some  con- 
nection between  brown  nude  Bhils  and  his  weekly 
allowance ;  but  the  white  helmet  in  the  sunlight  annoyed 
him,  and  he  did  not  approve  of  the  voice  that  broke  his 
rest.  Lazily  as  a  gorged  snake  he  dragged  himself  out 
of  the  cave,  and  stood  yawning  and  blinking  at  the  en- 
trance. The  sunlight  fell  upon  his  flat  right  side,  and 
Chinn  wondered.     Never  had  he  seen  a  tiger  marked 

131 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

after  this  fashion.  Except  for  his  head,  which  was  star- 
ingly  barred,  he  was  dappled — not  striped,  but  dappled 
like  a  child's  rocking-horse  in  rich  shades  of  smoky 
black  on  red  gold.  That  portion  of  his  belly  and  throat 
which  should  have  been  white  was  orange,  and  his  tail 
and  paws  were  black. 

He  looked  leisurely  for  some  ten  seconds,  and  then 
deliberately  lowered  his  head,  his  chin  dropped  and 
drawn  in,  staring  intently  at  the  man.  The  effect  of 
this  was  to  throw  forward  the  round  arch  of  his  skull, 
with  two  broad  bands  across  it,  while  below  the  bands 
glared  the  unwinking  eyes;  so  that,  head  on,  as  he  stood, 
he  showed  something  like  a  diabolically  scowling  pan- 
tomime-mask. It  was  a  piece  of  natural  mesmerism 
that  he  had  practised  many  times  on  his  quarry,  and 
though  Chinn  was  by  no  means  a  terrified  heifer,  he 
stood  for  a  while,  held  by  the  extraordinary  oddity  of 
the  attack.  The  head — the  body  seemed  to  have  been 
packed  away  behind  it — the  ferocious,  skull-like  head, 
crept  nearer  to  the  switching  of  an  angry  tail-tip  in  the 
grass.  Left  and  right  the  Bhils  had  scattered  to  let 
John  Chinn  subdue  his  own  horse. 

*My  word!'  he  thought.  'He's  trying  to  frighten 
me!'  and  fired  between  the  saucer-like  eyes,  leaping 
aside  upon  the  shot. 

A  big  coughing  mass,  reeking  of  carrion,  bounded  past 
him  up  the  hill,  and  he  followed  discreetly.  The  tiger 
made  no  attempt  to  turn  into  the  jungle;  he  was  hunting 
for  sight  and  breath — nose  up,  mouth  open,  the  tremen- 
dous fore-legs  scattering  the  gravel  in  spurts. 

*  Scuppered!'  said  John  Chinn,  watching  the  flight. 
'Now  if  he  was  a  partridge  he'd  tower.  Lungs  must  be 
full  of  blood.' 

132 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

The  brute  had  jerked  himself  over  a  boulder  and 
fallen  out  of  sight  the  other  side.  John  Chinn  looked 
over  with  a  ready  barrel.  But  the  red  trail  led  straight 
as  an  arrow  even  to  his  grandfather's  tomb,  and  there, 
among  the  smashed  spirit  bottles  and  the  fragments  of 
the  mud  image,  the  life  left  with  a  flurry  and  a  grunt. 

'If  my  worthy  ancestor  could  see  that,'  said  John 
Chinn,  'he'd  have  been  proud  of  me.  Eyes,  lower  jaw, 
and  lungs.  A  very  nice  shot.'  He  whistled  for  Bukta 
as  he  drew  the  tape  over  the  stiffening  bulk. 

'Ten — six — eight — by  Jove!  It's  nearly  eleven — 
call  it  eleven.  Fore-arm,  twenty-four — five — seven  and 
a  half.  A  short  tail,  too;  three  feet  one.  But  what 
a  skin!  Oh,  Bukta!  Bukta!  The  men  with  the  knives 
swiftly.' 

'Is  he  beyond  question  dead?'  said  an  awe-stricken 
voice  behind  a  rock. 

'That  was  not  the  way  I  killed  my  first  tiger,'  said 
Chinn.  '  I  did  not  think  that  Bukta  would  run.  I  had 
no  second  gun.' 

'  It — it  is  the  Clouded  Tiger,'  said  Bukta,  unheeding 
the  taunt.     '  He  is  dead.' 

Whether  all  the  Bhils,  vaccinated  and  unvaccinated, 
of  the  Satpuras  had  lain  by  to  see  the  kill,  Chinn  could 
not  say;  but  the  whole  hill's  flank  rustled  with  little  men, 
shouting,  singing,  and  stamping.  And  yet,  till  he  had 
made  the  first  cut  in  the  splendid  skin,  not  a  man  would 
take  a  knife;  and,  when  the  shadows  fell,  they  ran  from 
the  red-stained  tomb,  and  no  persuasion  would  bring 
them  back  till  dawn.  So  Chinn  spent  a  second  night 
in  the  open,  guarding  the  carcass  from  jackals,  and 
thinking  about  his  ancestor. 

He  returned  to  the  lowlands,  to  the  triumphal  chant 

133 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

of  an  escorting  army  three  hundred  strong,  the  Mahratta 
vaccinator  close  at  his  elbow,  and  the  rudely  dried  skin 
a  trophy  before  him.  When  that  army  suddenly  and 
noiselessly  disappeared,  as  do  quail  in  high  corn,  he 
argued  he  was  near  civilisation,  and  a  turn  in  the  road 
brought  him  upon  the  camp  of  a  wing  of  his  own  corps. 
He  left  the  skin  on  a  cart-tail  for  the  world  to  see,  and 
sought  the  Colonel. 

'They're  perfectly  right,'  he  explained  earnestly. 
'There  isn't  an  ounce  of  vice  in  'em.  They  were  only 
frightened.  I've  vaccinated  the  whole  boiling,  and 
they  like  it  awfully.  What  are — what  are  we  doing 
here,  sir.?' 

'That's  what  I'm  trying  to  find  out,'  said  the  Colonel. 
*  I  don't  know  yet  whether  we're  a  piece  of  a  brigade  or  a 
police  force.  However,  I  think  we'll  call  ourselves  a 
police  force.  How  did  you  manage  to  get  a  Bhil  vac- 
cinated?' 

'Well,  sir,'  said  Chinn,  'I've  been  thinking  it  over, 
and,  as  far  as  I  can  make  out,  I've  got  a  sort  of  heredi- 
tary influence  over  'em.' 

*So  I  know,  or  I  wouldn't  have  sent  you;  but  what, 
exactly? ' 

*  It's  rather  rummy.  It  seems,  from  what  I  can  make 
out,  that  I'm  my  own  grandfather  reincarnated,  and  I've 
been  disturbing  the  peace  of  the  country  by  riding  a 
pad-tiger  of  nights.  If  I  hadn't  done  that,  I  don't  think 
they'd  have  objected  to  the  vaccination;  but  the  two 
together  were  more  than  they  could  stand.  And  so,  sir, 
I've  vaccinated  'em,  and  shot  my  tiger-horse  as  a  sort  o' 
proof  of  good  faith.  You  never  saw  such  a  skin  in  your 
life.' 

The   Colonel  tugged   his   moustache   thoughtfully. 

134 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

'Now,  how  the  deuce,'  said  he,  'am  I  to  inckide  that  in 
my  report? ' 

Indeed,  the  official  version  of  the  Bhils'  anti-vacci- 
nation stampede  said  nothing  about  Lieutenant  John 
Chinn,  his  godship.  But  Bukta  knew,  and  the  corps 
knew,  and  every  Bhil  in  the  Satpura  hills  knew. 

And  now  Bukta  is  zealous  that  John  Chinn  shall 
swiftly  be  wedded  and  impart  his  powers  to  a  son;  for  if 
the  Chinn  succession  fails,  and  the  little  Bhils  are  left 
to  their  own  imaginings,  there  will  be  fresh  trouble  in  the 
Satpuras. 


135 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

(1895) 

All  supplies  very  bad  and  dear,  and  there  are  no  facili- 
ties for  even  the  smallest  repairs. — 'Sailing  Directions.' 

HER  nationality  was  British,  but  you  will  not  find 
her  house-flag  in  the  list  of  our  mercantile  marine- 
She  was  a  nine-hundred-ton,  iron,  schooner- 
rigged,  screw  cargo-boat,  differing  externally  in  no  way 
from  any  other  tramp  of  the  sea.  But  it  is  with  steamers 
as  it  is  with  men.  There  are  those  who  will  for  a  con- 
sideration sail  extremely  close  to  the  wind;  and,  in  the 
present  state  of  a  fallen  world,  such  people  and  such 
steamers  have  their  use.  From  the  hour  that  the 
'Aglaia'  first  entered  the  Clyde — new,  shiny,  and  inno- 
cent, with  a  quart  of  cheap  champagne  trickling  down 
her  cutwater — Fate  and  her  owner,  who  was  also  her 
captain,  decreed  that  she  should  deal  with  embarrassed 
crowned  heads,  fleeing  Presidents,  financiers  of  over- 
extended ability,  women  to  whom  change  of  air  was 
imperative,  and  the  lesser  law-breaking  Powers.  Her 
career  led  her  sometimes  into  the  Admiralty  Courts, 
where  the  sworn  statements  of  her  skipper  filled  his 
brethren  with  envy.  The  mariner  cannot  tell  or  act  a 
lie  in  the  face  of  the  sea,  or  mislead  a  tempest;  but,  as 
lawyers  have  discovered,  he  makes  up  for  chances  with- 

136 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

held  when  he  returns  to  shore,  an  affidavit  in  either 
hand. 

The  'Aglaia'  figured  with  distinction  in  the  great 
'Mackinaw'  salvage  case.  It  was  her  first  slip  from 
virtue,  and  she  learned  how  to  change  her  name,  but  not 
her  heart,  and  to  run  across  the  sea.  As  the  'Guiding 
Light'  she  was  very  badly  wanted  in  a  South  American 
port  for  the  little  matter  of  entering  harbour  at  full 
speed,  colliding  with  a  coal-hulk  and  the  State's  only 
man-of-war,  just  as  that  man-of-war  was  going  to  coal. 
She  put  to  sea  without  explanations,  though  three  forts 
fired  at  her  for  half  an  hour.  As  the  'Julia  M'Gregor' 
she  had  been  concerned  in  picking  up  from  a  raft  certain 
gentlemen  who  should  have  stayed  in  Noumea,  but  who 
preferred  making  themselves  vastly  unpleasant  to 
authority  in  quite  another  quarter  of  the  world;  and  as 
the  'Shah-in-Shah'  she  had  been  overtaken  on  the  high 
seas,  indecently  full  of  munitions  of  war,  by  the  cruiser 
of  an  agitated  Power  at  issue  with  its  neighbour.  That 
time  she  was  very  nearly  sunk,  and  her  riddled  hull  gave 
eminent  lawyers  of  two  countries  great  profit.  After  a 
season  she  reappeared  as  the  '  Martin  Hunt,'  painted  a 
dull  slate  colour,  with  pure  saffron  funnel,  and  boats  of 
sparrow's-egg  blue,  engaging  in  the  Odessa  trade  till  she 
was  invited  (and  the  invitation  could  not  well  be  dis- 
regarded) to  keep  away  from  Black  Sea  ports  altogether. 

She  had  ridden  through  many  waves  of  depression. 
Freights  might  drop  out  of  sight.  Seamen's  Unions  throw 
spanners  and  nuts  at  certificated  masters,  or  stevedores 
combine  till  cargo  perished  on  the  dockhead;  but  the 
boat  of  many  names  came  and  went,  busy,  alert,  and 
inconspicuous  always.  Her  skipper  made  no  complaint 
of  hard  times,  and  port  officers  observed  that  her  crew 

137 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

signed  and  signed  again  with  the  regularity  of  Atlantic 
liner  boatswains.  Her  name  she  changed  as  occasion 
called;  her  well-paid  crew  never;  and  a  large  percentage 
of  the  profits  of  her  voyages  was  spent  with  an  open 
hand  on  her  engine-room.  She  never  troubled  the 
underwriters,  and  very  seldom  stopped  to  talk  with  a 
signal-station;  for  her  business  was  urgent  and  private. 

But  an  end  came  to  her  tradings,  and  she  perished  in 
this  manner.  Deep  peace  brooded  over  Europe,  Asia, 
Africa,  America,  Australasia,  and  Polynesia.  The  Pow- 
ers dealt  together  more  or  less  honestly;  banks  paid 
their  depositors  to  the  hour;  diamonds  of  price  came 
safely  to  the  hands  of  their  owners;  republics  rested 
content  with  their  dictators;  diplomats  found  no  one 
whose  presence  in  the  least  incommoded  them;  mon- 
archs  lived  openly  with  their  lawfully  wedded  wives. 
It  was  as  though  the  whole  earth  had  put  on  its  best 
Sunday  bib  and  tucker; — and  business  was  very  bad  for 
the  *  Martin  Hunt.'  The  great,  virtuous  calm  engulfed 
her,  slate  sides,  yellow  funnel,  and  all,  but  cast  up  in 
another  hemisphere  the  steam-whaler  'Haliotis,'  black 
and  rusty,  with  a  manure-coloured  funnel,  a  litter  of 
dingy  white  boats,  and  an  enormous  stove,  or  furnace, 
for  boiling  blubber  on  her  forward  well-deck.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  that  her  trip  was  successful,  for  she 
lay  at  several  ports  not  too  well  known,  and  the  smoke 
of  her  trying-out  insulted  the  beaches. 

Anon  she  departed,  at  the  speed  of  the  average  Lon- 
don four-wheeler,  and  entered  a  semi-inland  sea,  warm, 
still,  and  blue,  which  is,  perhaps,  the  most  strictly  pre- 
served water  in  the  world.  There  she  stayed  for  a 
certain  time,  and  the  great  stars  of  those  mild  skies 
beheld  her  playing  puss-in-the-corner  among  islands 

138 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

where  whales  are  never  found.  All  that  time  she  smelt 
abominably,  and  the  smell,  though  fishy,  was  not  whale- 
some.  One  evening  calamity  descended  upon  her  from 
the  island  of  Pygang-Watai,  and  she  fled,  while  her  crew 
jeered  at  a  fat  black-and-brown  gunboat  pufTmg  far 
behind.  They  knew  to  the  last  revolution  the  capacity 
of  every  boat,  on  those  seas,  that  they  were  anxious  to 
avoid.  A  British  ship  with  a  good  conscience  dees  not, 
as  a  rule,  flee  from  the  man-of-war  of  a  foreign  Power, 
and  it  is  also  considered  a  breach  of  etiquette  to  stop 
and  search  British  ships  at  sea.  These  things  the  skip- 
per of  the  'Haliotis'  did  not  pause  to  prove,  but  held 
on  at  an  inspiriting  eleven  knots  till  nightfall.  One 
thing  only  he  overlooked. 

The  Power  that  kept  an  expensive  steam-patrol  mov- 
ing up  and  down  those  waters  (they  had  dodged  the  two 
regular  ships  of  the  station  with  an  ease  that  bred  con- 
tempt) had  newly  brought  up  a  third  and  a  fourteen- 
knot  boat  with  a  clean  bottom  to  help  the  work;  and 
that  was  why  the  'Haliotis,'  driving  hard  from  the  east 
to  the  west,  found  herself  at  daylight  in  such  a  position 
that  she  could  not  help  seeing  an  arrangement  of  four 
flags,  a  mile  and  a  half  behind,  which  read:  'Heave  to,  or 
take  the  consequences!' 

She  had  her  choice,  and  she  took  it,  and  the  end  came 
when,  presuming  on  her  lighter  draught,  she  tried  to 
draw  away  northward  over  a  friendly  shoal.  The  shell 
that  arrived  by  way  of  the  Chief  Engineer's  cabin  was 
some  five  inches  in  diameter,  with  a  practice,  not  a 
bursting,  charge.  It  had  been  intended  to  cross  her 
bows,  and  that  was  why  it  knocked  the  framed  portrait 
of  the  Chief  Engineer's  wife — and  she  was  a  very  pretty 
girl — on  to  the  floor,  splintered  his  wash-hand  stand, 

139 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

crossed  the  alleyway  into  the  engine-room,  and  striking 
on  a  grating,  dropped  directly  in  front  of  the  forward 
engine,  where  it  burst,  neatly  fracturing  both  the  bolts 
that  held  the  connecting-rod  to  the  forward  crank. 

What  follows  is  worth  consideration.  The  forward 
engine  had  no  more  work  to  do.  Its  released  piston-rod, 
therefore,  drove  up  fiercely,  with  nothing  to  check  it, 
and  started  most  of  the  nuts  of  the  cylinder-cover.  It 
came  down  again,  the  full  weight  of  the  steam  behind  it, 
and  the  foot  of  the  disconnected  connecting-rod,  useless 
as  the  leg  of  a  man  with  a  sprained  ankle,  flung  out  to 
the  right  and  struck  the  starboard,  or  right-hand,  cast- 
iron  supporting-column  of  the  forward  engine,  cracking 
it  clean  through  about  six  inches  above  the  base,  and 
wedging  the  upper  portion  outwards  three  inches 
towards  the  ship's  side.  There  the  connecting-rod 
jammed.  Meantime,  the  after  engine,  being  as  yet 
unembarrassed,  went  on  with  its  work,  and  in  so  doing 
brought  round  at  its  next  revolution  the  crank  of  the 
forward  engme,  which  smote  the  already  jammed  con- 
necting-rod, bending  it  and  therewith  the  piston-rod 
cross-head — the  big  cross-piece  that  slides  up  and  down 
so  smoothly. 

The  cross-head  jammed  sideways  in  the  guides,  and 
in  addition  to  putting  further  pressure  on  the  already 
broken  starboard  supporting-column,  cracked  the  port, 
or  left-hand,  supporting-column  in  two  or  three  places. 
There  being  nothing  more  that  could  be  made  to  move, 
the  engines  brought  up,  all  standing,  with  a  hiccup  that 
seemed  to  lift  the  *Haliotis'  afoot  out  of  the  water;  and 
the  engine-room  stafi,  opening  every  steam  outlet  that 
they  could  find  in  the  confusion,  arrived  on  deck  some- 
what scalded,  but  calm.    There  was  a  sound  below  of 

140 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

things  happening — a  rushing,  clicking,  purring,  grunt- 
ing, rattling  noise  that  did  not  last  for  more  than  a 
minute.  It  was  the  machinery  adjusting  itself,  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment,  to  a  hundred  altered  conditions. 
Mr.  Wardrop,  one  foot  on  the  upper  grating,  inclined 
his  ear  sideways  and  groaned.  You  cannot  stop  en- 
gines working  at  twelve  knots  in  three  seconds  without 
disorganising  them.  The  'Haliotis'  slid  forward  in  a 
cloud  of  steam,  shrieking  like  a  wounded  horse.  There 
was  nothing  more  to  do.  The  five-inch  shell  with  a 
reduced  charge  had  settled  the  situation.  And  when 
you  are  full,  all  three  holds,  of  strictly  preserved  pearls; 
when  you  have  cleaned  out  the  Tanna  Bank,  the  Sea- 
Horse  Bank,  and  four  other  banks  from  one  end  to  the 
other  of  the  Amanala  Sea — when  you  have  ripped  out 
the  very  heart  of  a  rich  Government  monopoly  so  that 
five  years  will  not  repair  your  wrong-doings — you  must 
smile  and  take  what  is  in  store.  But  the  skipper  reflected, 
as  a  launch  put  out  from  the  man-of-war,  that  he  had 
been  bombarded  on  the  high  seas,  with  the  British  flag 
— several  of  them — picturesquely  disposed  above  him, 
and  tried  to  find  comfort  in  the  thought. 

*  Where,'  said  the  stolid  naval  lieutenant  hoisting  him- 
self aboard,  'where  are  those  dam'  pearls?' 

They  were  there  beyond  evasion.  No  affidavit  could 
do  away  with  the  fearful  smell  of  decayed  oysters,  the 
diving-dresses,  and  the  shell-littered  hatches.  They 
were  there  to  the  value  of  seventy  thousand  pounds, 
more  or  less;  and  every  pound  poached. 

The  man-of-war  was  annoyed;  for  she  had  used  up 
many  tons  of  coal,  she  had  strained  her  tubes,  and, 
worse  than  all,  her  officers  and  crew  had  been  hurried. 
Every  one  on  the  'Haliotis'  was  arrested  and  rearrested 

141 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

several  times,  as  each  officer  came  aboard;  then  they 
were  told  by  what  they  esteemed  to  be  the  equivalent 
of  a  midshipman  that  they  were  to  consider  themselves 
prisoners,  and  finally  were  put  under  arrest. 

'It's  not  the  least  good,'  said  the  skipper,  suavely. 
'You'd  much  better  send  us  a  tow — ' 

'Be  still — you  are  arrest!'  was  the  reply. 

*  Where  the  devil  do  you  expect  we  are  going  to  escape 
to?  We're  helpless.  You've  got  to  tow  us  somewhere, 
and  explain  why  you  fired  on  us.  Mr.  Wardrop,  we're 
helpless,  aren't  we? ' 

'Ruined  from  end  to  end,'  said  the  man  of  machinery. 
*If  she  rolls,  the  forward  cylinder  will  come  down  and 
go  through  her  bottom.  Both  columns  are  clean  cut 
through.     There's  nothing  to  hold  anything  up.' 

The  council  of  w^ar  clanked  ofT  to  see  if  Mr.  Wardrop' s 
words  were  true.  He  warned  them  that  it  was  as  much 
as  a  man's  life  was  worth  to  enter  the  engine-room,  and 
they  contented  themselves  with  a  distant  inspection 
through  the  thinning  steam.  The  'Haliotis'  lifted  to 
the  long,  easy  swell,  and  the  starboard  supporting- 
column  ground  a  trifle,  as  a  man  grits  his  teeth  under 
the  knife.  The  forward  cylinder  was  depending  on  that 
unknown  force  men  call  the  pertinacity  of  materials, 
which  now  and  then  balances  that  other  heart-breaking 
power,  the  perversity  of  inanimate  things. 

'You  see!'  said  Mr.  Wardrop,  hurrying  them  away. 
'The  engines  aren't  worth  their  price  as  old  iron.' 

'We  tow,'  was  the  answer.  'Afterwards  we  shall 
confiscate.' 

The  man-of-war  was  short-handed,  and  did  not  see 
the  necessity  for  putting  a  prize-crew  aboard  the 
*  Haliotis.'     So  she  sent  one  sub-lieutenant,  w^hom  the 

142 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

skipper  kept  very  drunk,  for  he  did  not  wish  to  make  the 
tow  too  easy,  and,  moreover,  he  had  an  inconspicuous 
little  rope  hanging  from  the  stern  of  his  ship. 

Then  they  began  to  tow  at  an  average  speed  of  four 
knots.  The  'Haliotis'  was  very  hard  to  move,  and  the 
gunnery-lieutenant,  who  had  fired  the  five-inch  shell, 
had  leisure  to  think  upon  consequences.  Mr.  Wardrop 
was  the  busy  man.  He  borrowed  all  the  crew  to  shore 
up  the  cyhnders,  with  spars  and  blocks,  from  the  bottom 
and  sides  of  the  ship.  It  was  a  day's  risky  work;  but 
anything  was  better  than  drowning  at  the  end  of  a  tow- 
rope;  and  if  the  forward  cylinder  had  fallen,  it  would 
have  made  its  way  to  the  sea-bed,  and  taken  the  'Hal- 
iotis' after. 

'Where  are  we  going  to,  and  how  long  will  they  tow 
us?'  he  asked  of  the  skipper. 

'  God  knows !  and  this  prize-lieutenant's  drunk.  What 
do  you  think  you  can  do?' 

'There's  just  the  bare  chance' Mr.  Wardrop  whispered, 
though  no  one  was  within  hearing — 'there's  just  the 
bare  chance  o'  repairin'  her,  if  a  man  knew  how.  They've 
twisted  the  very  guts  out  of  her,  bringing  her  up  with 
that  jerk;  but  I'm  saying  that,  with  time  and  patience, 
there's  just  the  chance  of  making  steam  yet.  W^e  could 
do  it.' 

The  skipper's  eye  brightened.  'Do  you  mean,'  he 
began, '  that  she  is  any  good? ' 

*0h  no,'  said  Mr.  Wardrop.  'She'll  need  three  thou- 
sand pounds  in  repairs,  at  the  lowest,  if  she's  to  take  the 
sea  again,  an'  that  apart  from  any  injury  to  her  struct- 
ure. She's  like  a  man  fallen  down  five  pair  o'  stairs. 
We  can't  tell  for  months  what  has  happened;  but  we 
know  she'll  never  be  good  again  without  a  new  inside. 

143 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

Ye  should  see  the  condenser-tubes  an'  the  steam  con- 
nections to  the  donkey,  for  two  things  only.  I'm  not 
afraid  of  them  repairin'  her.  I'm  afraid  of  them  stealin' 
things.' 

'They've  fired  on  us.     They'll  have  to  explain  that.' 

'  Our  reputation's  not  good  enough  to  ask  for  explana- 
tions. Let's  take  what  we  have  and  be  thankful.  Ye 
would  not  have  consuls  rememberin'  the  "Guidin' 
Light,"  an'  the  "Shah-in-Shah,"  an'  the  "Aglaia"  at 
this  most  alarmin'  crisis.  We've  been  no  better  than 
pirates  these  ten  years.  Under  Providence  we're  no 
worse  than  thieves  now.  W^e've  much  to  be  thankful 
for — if  we  e'er  get  back  to  her.' 

'Make  it  your  own  way,  then,'  said  the  skipper,  'if 
there's  the  least  chance — ' 

'I'll  leave  none,'  said  Mr.  Wardrop — 'none  that 
they'll  dare  to  take.  Keep  her  heavy  on  the  tow,  for 
we  need  time.' 

The  skipper  never  interfered  with  the  affairs  of  the 
engine-room,  and  Mr.  Wardrop — an  artist  in  his  pro- 
fession— turned  to  and  composed  a  work  terrible  and 
forbidding.  His  background  was  the  dark-grained  sides 
of  the  engine-room;  his  material  the  metals  of  power 
and  strength,  helped  out  with  spars,  baulks,  and  ropes. 
The  man-of-war  towed  sullenly  and  viciously.  The 
*  Haliotis '  behind  her  hummed  like  a  hive  before  swarm- 
ing. With  extra  and  totally  unneeded  spars  her  crew 
blocked  up  the  space  round  the  forward  engine  till  it 
resembled  a  statue  in  its  scaffolding,  and  the  butts  of  the 
shores  interfered  with  every  view  that  a  dispassionate 
eye  might  wish  to  take.  And  that  the  dispassionate 
mind  might  be  swiftly  shaken  out  of  its  calm,  the  well- 
sunk  bolts  of  the  shores  were  wrapped  round  untidily 

144 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

with  loose  ends  of  ropes,  giving  a  studied  effect  of  most 
dangerous  insecurity.  Next,  Mr.  Wardrop  took  up  a 
collection  from  the  after  engine,  which,  as  you  will  re- 
member, had  not  been  affected  in  the  general  wreck. 
The  cylinder  escape-valve  he  abolished  with  a  flogging- 
hammer.  It  is  difTicult  in  far-off  ports  to  come  by  such 
valves,  unless,  like  Mr.  Wardrop,  you  keep  duplicates 
in  store.  At  the  same  time  men  took  off  the  nuts  of  two 
of  the  great  holding-down  bolts  that  serve  to  keep  the 
engines  in  place  on  their  solid  bed.  An  engine  violently 
arrested  in  mid-career  may  easily  jerk  off  the  nut  of  a 
holding-down  bolt,  and  this  accident  looked  very  nat- 
ural. 

Passing  along  the  tunnel,  he  removed  several  shaft 
coupling-bolts  and  nuts,  scattering  other  and  ancient 
pieces  of  iron  under  foot.  Cylinder-bolts  he  cut  off  to 
the  number  of  six  from  the  after  engine  cylinder,  so  that 
it  might  match  its  neighbour,  and  stuffed  the  bilge-  and 
feed-pumps  with  cotton-waste.  Then  he  made  a  neat 
bundle  of  the  various  odds  and  ends  that  he  had  gathered 
from  the  engines — little  things  like  nuts  and  valve- 
spindles,  all  carefully  tallowed — and  retired  with  them 
under  the  floor  of  the  engine-room,  where  he  sighed, 
being  fat,  as  he  passed  from  manhole  to  manhole  of  the 
double  bottom,  and  in  a  fairly  dry  submarine  compart- 
ment hid  them.  Any  engineer,  particularly  in  an  un- 
friendly port,  has  a  right  to  keep  his  spare  stores  where 
he  chooses;  and  the  foot  of  one  of  the  cylinder  shores 
blocked  all  entrance  into  the  regular  storeroom,  even  if 
that  had  not  been  already  closed  with  steel  wedges.  In 
conclusion,  he  disconnected  the  after  engine,  laid  piston 
and  connecting-rod,  carefully  tallowed,  where  it  would 
be  most  inconvenient  to  the  casual  visitor,  took  out 

145 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

three  of  the  eight  collars  of  the  thrust-block,  hid  them 
where  only  he  could  find  them  again,  filled  the  boilers  by 
hand,  wedged  the  sliding  doors  of  the  coal-bunkers, 
and  rested  from  his  labours.  The  engine-room  was  a 
cemetery,  and  it  did  not  need  the  contents  of  an  ash-lift 
through  the  skylight  to  make  it  any  worse. 

He  invited  the  skipper  to  look  at  the  completed  work. 

'Saw  ye  ever  such  a  forsaken  wreck  as  that?'  said 
he  proudly.  'It  almost  frights  me  to  go  under  those 
shores.     Now,  what  d  'you  think  they'll  do  to  us? ' 

'Wait  till  we  see,'  said  the  skipper.  'It'll  be  bad 
enough  when  it  comes.' 

He  was  not  wrong.  The  pleasant  days  of  towing 
ended  all  too  soon,  though  the  'Haliotis'  trailed  behind 
her  a  heavily  weighted  jib  stayed  out  into  the  shape  of  a 
pocket;  and  Mr.  Wardrop  was  no  longer  an  artist  of 
imagination,  but  one  of  seven-and-twenty  prisoners  in 
a  prison  full  of  insects.  The  man-of-war  had  towed 
them  to  the  nearest  port,  not  to  the  headquarters  of  the 
colony,  and  when  Mr.  Wardrop  saw  the  dismal  little 
harbour,  with  its  ragged  line  of  Chinese  junks,  its  one 
crazy  tug,  and  the  boat-building  shed  that,  under  the 
charge  of  a  philosophical  Malay,  represented  a  dock- 
yard, he  sighed  and  shook  his  head. 

'  I  did  well,'  he  said.  '  This  is  the  habitation  o'  wreckers 
an'  thieves.  We're  at  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth. 
Think  you  they'll  ever  know  in  England?' 

'Doesn't  look  like  it,'  said  the  skipper. 

They  were  marched  ashore  with  what  they  stood  up 
in,  under  a  generous  escort,  and  were  judged  according 
to  the  customs  of  the  country,  which,  though  excellent, 
are  a  little  out  of  date.  There  were  the  pearls;  there 
were  the  poachers;  and  there  sat  a  small  but  hot  Gover- 

146 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

nor.  He  consulted  for  a  while,  and  then  things  began 
to  move  with  speed,  for  he  did  not  wish  to  keep  a  hungry 
crew  at  large  on  the  beach,  and  the  man-of-war  had  gone 
up  the  coast.  With  a  wave  of  his  hand — a  stroke  of  the 
pen  was  not  necessary — he  consigned  them  to  the 
blakgang-tana,  the  back  country,  and  the  hand  of  the 
Law  removed  them  from  his  sight  and  the  knowledge  of 
men.  They  were  marched  into  the  palms,  and  the  back 
country  swallowed  them  up — all  the  crew  of  the  'Hal- 
iotis.' 

Deep  peace  continued  to  brood  over  Europe,  Asia, 
Africa,  America,  Australasia,  and  Polynesia. 

It  was  the  firing  that  did  it.  They  should  have  kept 
their  counsel;  but  when  a  few  thousand  foreigners  are 
bursting  with  joy  over  the  fact  that  a  ship  under  the 
British  flag  had  been  fired  at  on  the  high  seas,  news 
travels  quickly;  and  when  it  came  out  that  the  pearl- 
stealing  crew  had  not  been  allowed  access  to  their  consul 
(there  was  no  consul  within  a  few  hundred  miles  of  that 
lonely  port)  even  the  friendliest  of  Powers  has  a  right  to 
ask  questions.  The  great  heart  of  the  British  public 
was  beating  furiously  on  account  of  the  performance  of 
a  notorious  race-horse,  and  had  not  a  throb  to  waste  on 
distant  accidents;  but  somewhere  deep  in  the  hull  of  the 
ship  of  State  there  is  machinery  which  more  or  less 
accurately  takes  charge  of  foreign  affairs.  That  ma- 
chinery began  to  revolve,  and  who  so  shocked  and  sur- 
prised as  the  Power  that  had  captured  the  'Haliotis'? 
It  explained  that  colonial  governors  and  far-away  men- 
of-war  were  difficult  to  control,  and  promised  that  it 
would  most  certainly  make  an  example  both  of  the 
Governor  and  the  vessel.    As  for  the  crew,  reported  to 

147 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

be  pressed  into  military  service  in  tropical  climes,  it 
would  produce  them  as  soon  as  possible,  and  it  would 
apologise,  if  necessary.  Now,  no  apologies  were  needed. 
When  one  nation  apologises  to  another,  millions  of 
amateurs  who  have  no  earthly  concern  with  the  difficulty 
hurl  themselves  into  the  strife  and  embarrass  the  trained 
specialist.  It  was  requested  that  the  crew  be  found,  if 
they  were  still  alive — they  had  been  eight  months 
beyond  knowledge — and  it  was  promised  that  all  would 
be  forgotten. 

The  little  Governor  of  the  little  port  was  pleased  with 
himself.  Seven-and-twenty  white  men  made  a  very 
compact  force  to  throw  away  on  a  war  that  had  neither 
beginning  nor  end — a  jungle-and-stockade  fight  that 
flickered  and  smouldered  through  the  wet,  hot  years  in 
the  hills  a  hundred  miles  away,  and  was  the  heritage  of 
every  wearied  official.  He  had,  he  thought,  deserved 
well  of  his  country;  and  if  only  some  one  would  buy  the 
unhappy  'Haliotis,'  moored  in  the  harbour  below  his 
veranda,  his  cup  would  be  full.  He  looked  at  the  neatly 
silvered  lamps  that  he  had  taken  from  her  cabins,  and 
thought  of  much  that  might  be  turned  to  account. 
But  his  countrymen  in  that  moist  climate  had  no  spirit. 
They  would  peep  into  the  silent  engine-room,  and  shake 
their  heads.  Even  the  men-of-war  would  not  tow  her 
farther  up  the  coast,  where  the  Governor  believed  that 
she  could  be  repaired.  She  was  a  bad  bargain;  but  her 
cabin  carpets  were  undeniably  beautiful,  and  his  wife 
approved  of  her  mirrors. 

Three  hours  later  cables  were  bursting  round  him 
like  shells,  for,  though  he  knew  it  not,  he  was  being 
offered  as  a  sacrifice  by  the  nether  to  the  upper  mill- 
stone, and  his  superiors  had  no  regard  for  his  feelings. 

148 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

He  had,  said  the  cables,  grossly  exceeded  his  power,  and 
failed  to  report  on  events.  He  would,  therefore, — at 
this  he  cast  himself  back  in  his  hammock — produce  the 
crew  of  the  'Haliotis.'  He  would  send  for  them,  and,  if 
that  failed,  he  would  put  his  dignity  on  a  pony  and  fetch 
them  himself.  He  had  no  conceivable  right  to  make 
pearl-poachers  serve  in  any  war.  He  would  be  held 
responsible. 

Next  morning  the  cables  wished  to  know  whether  he 
had  found  the  crew  of  the  'Haliotis.'  They  were  to  be 
found,  freed  and  fed — he  was  to  feed  them — till  such 
time  as  they  could  be  sent  to  the  nearest  English  port  in 
a  man-of-war.  If  you  abuse  a  man  long  enough  in  great 
words  flashed  over  the  sea-beds,  things  happen.  The 
Governor  sent  inland  swiftly  for  his  prisoners,  who  were 
also  soldiers;  and  never  was  a  militia  regiment  more 
anxious  to  reduce  its  strength.  No  power  short  of 
death  could  make  these  mad  men  wear  the  uniform  of 
their  service.  They  would  not  fight,  except  with  their 
fellows,  and  it  was  for  that  reason  the  regiment  had  not 
gone  to  war,  but  stayed  in  a  stockade,  reasoning  with  the 
new  troops.  The  autumn  campaign  had  been  a  fiasco, 
but  here  were  the  Englishmen.  All  the  regiment  marched 
back  to  guard  them,  and  the  hairy  enemy,  armed  with 
blow-pipes,  rejoiced  in  the  forest.  Five  of  the  crew  had 
died,  but  there  lined  up  on  the  Governor's  veranda  two- 
and-twenty  men  marked  about  the  legs  with  the  scars  of 
leech-bites.  A  few  of  them  wore  fringes  that  had  once 
been  trousers; the  others  used  loin-cloths  of  gay  patterns; 
and  they  existed  beautifully  but  simply  in  the  Governor's 
veranda;  and  when  he  came  out  they  sang  at  him. 
When  you  have  lost  seventy  thousand  pounds'  worth  of 
pearls,  your  pay,  your  ship,  and  all  your  clothes,  and 

149 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

have  lived  in  bondage  for  eight  months  beyond  the 
faintest  pretences  of  civilisation,  you  know  what  true 
independence  means,  for  you  become  the  happiest  of 
created  things — natural  man. 

The  Governor  told  the  crew  that  they  were  evil,  and 
they  asked  for  food.  When  he  saw  how  they  ate,  and 
when  he  remembered  that  none  of  the  pearl  patrol-boats 
were  expected  for  two  months,  he  sighed.  But  the  crew 
of  the  'Haliotis'  lay  down  in  the  veranda,  and  said  that 
they  were  pensioners  of  the  Governor's  bounty.  A 
gray-bearded  man,  fat  and  bald-headed,  his  one  garment 
a  green  and  yellow  loin-cloth,  saw  the  'Haliotis'  in  the 
harbour,  and  bellowed  with  joy.  The  men  crowded  to 
the  veranda-rail,  kicking  aside  the  long  cane  chairs. 
They  pointed,  gesticulated,  and  argued  freely,  without 
shame.  The  militia  regiment  sat  down  in  the  Governor's 
garden.  The  Governor  retired  to  his  hammock — it 
was  as  easy  to  be  killed  lying  as  standing — and  his 
women  squeaked  from  the  shuttered  rooms. 

*She  sold?'  said  the  gray-bearded  man,  pointing  to 
the  '  Haliotis.'     He  was  Mr.  Wardrop. 

*No  good,'  said  the  Governor,  shaking  his  head.  *No 
one  come  buy.' 

'He's  taken  my  lamps,  though,'  said  the  skipper. 
He  wore  one  leg  of  a  pair  of  trousers,  and  his  eye  wan- 
dered along  the  veranda.  The  Governor  quailed.  There 
were  cuddy  camp-stools  and  the  skipper's  writing-table 
in  plain  sight. 

'They've  cleaned  her  out,  o'  course,'  said  Mr.  War- 
drop.  'They  would.  We'll  go  aboard  and  take  an  in- 
ventory. See ! '  He  waved  his  hands  over  the  harbour. 
'  We — live — there — now.     Sorry? ' 

The  Governor  smiled  a  smile  of  relief, 

150 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

*He's  glad  of  that,'  said  one  of  the  crew,  reflectively. 
*I  don't  wonder.' 

They  flocked  down  to  the  harbour-front,  the  militia 
regiment  clattering  behind,  and  embarked  themselves 
in  what  they  found — it  happened  to  be  the  Governor's 
boat.  Then  they  disappeared  over  the  bulwarks  of  the 
*Haliotis,'  and  the  Governor  prayed  that  they  might 
fmd  occupation  inside. 

Mr.  Wardrop's  first  bound  took  him  to  the  engine- 
room;  and  when  the  others  were  patting  the  well-re- 
membered decks,  they  heard  him  giving  God  thanks 
that  things  were  as  he  had  left  them.  The  wrecked 
engines  stood  over  his  head  untouched;  no  inexpert 
hand  had  meddled  with  his  shores;  the  steel  wedges  of 
the  storeroom  were  rusted  home;  and,  best  of  all,  the 
hundred  and  sixty  tons  of  good  Australian  coal  in  the 
bunkers  had  not  diminished. 

'I  don't  understand  it,'  said  Mr.  Wardrop.  *Any 
Malay  knows  the  use  o'  copper.  They  ought  to  have 
cut  away  the  pipes.  And  with  Chinese  junks  coming 
here,  too.     It's  a  special  interposition  o'  Providence.' 

'You  think  so,'  said  the  skipper,  from  above.  'There's 
only  been  one  thief  here,  and  he's  cleaned  her  out  of  all 
my  things,  anyhow.' 

Here  the  skipper  spoke  less  than  the  truth,  for  under 
the  planking  of  his  cabin,  only  to  be  reached  by  a  chisel, 
lay  a  little  money  which  never  drew  any  interest — his 
sheet-anchor  to  windward.  It  was  all  in  clean  sover- 
eigns that  pass  current  the  world  over,  and  might  have 
amounted  to  more  than  a  hundred  pounds. 

'He's  left  me  alone.  Let's  thank  God,'  repeated  Mr. 
Wardrop. 

'He's  taken  everything  else;  look!' 

151 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

The  'Haliotis,'  except  as  to  her  engine-room,  had 
been  systematically  and  scientifically  gutted  from  one 
end  to  the  other,  and  there  was  strong  evidence  that  an 
unclean  guard  had  camped  in  the  skipper's  cabin  to 
regulate  that  plunder.  She  lacked  glass,  plate,  crockery, 
cutlery,  mattresses,  cuddy  carpets  and  chairs,  all  boats, 
and  her  copper  ventilators.  These  things  had  been 
removed,  with  her  sails  and  as  much  of  the  wire  rigging 
as  would  not  imperil  the  safety  of  the  masts. 

'He  must  have  sold  those,'  said  the  skipper.  'The 
other  things  are  in  his  house,  I  suppose.' 

Every  fitting  that  could  be  prized  or  screwed  out  was 
gone.  Port,  starboard,  and  masthead  lights;  teak 
gratings;  sliding  sashes  of  the  deck-house;  the  captain's 
chest  of  drawers,  with  charts  and  chart-table;  photo- 
graphs, brackets,  and  looking-glasses;  cabin  doors; 
rubber  cuddy-mats;  hatch  irons;  half  the  funnel-stays; 
cork  fenders;  carpenter's  grindstone  and  tool-chest; 
holy-stones,  swabs,  squeegees;  all  cabin  and  pantry 
lamps;  galley  fittings  en  bloc;  flags  and  flag-locker; 
clocks,  chronometers;  the  forward  compass  and  the 
ship's  bell  and  belfry,  were  among  the  missing. 

There  were  great  scarred  marks  on  the  deck-planking, 
over  which  the  cargo-derricks  had  been  hauled.  One 
must  have  fallen  by  the  way,  for  the  bulwark-rails  were 
smashed  and  bent  and  the  side-plates  bruised. 

'It's  the  Governor,'  said  the  skipper.  'He's  been 
selling  her  on  the  instalment  plan.' 

'Let's  go  up  with  spanners  and  shovels,  and  kill  'email,' 
shouted  the  crew.  'Let's  drown  him,  and  keep  the  woman !' 

'Then  we'll  be  shot  by  that  black-and-tan  regiment — 
our  regiment.  What's  the  trouble  ashore?  They've 
camped  our  regiment  on  the  beach.' 

152 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

'We're  cut  off,  that's  all.  Go  and  see  what  they 
want,'  said  Mr.  Wardrop.     'You've  the  trousers.' 

In  his  simple  way  the  Governor  was  a  strategist.  He 
did  not  desire  that  the  crew  of  the  'Haliotis'  should 
come  ashore  again,  either  singly  or  in  detachments,  and 
he  proposed  to  turn  their  steamer  into  a  convict-hulk. 
They  would  wait — he  explained  this  from  the  quay  to 
the  skipper  in  the  barge — and  they  would  continue  to 
wait  till  the  man-of-war  came  along,  exactly  where  they 
were.  If  one  of  them  set  foot  ashore,  the  entire  regi- 
ment would  open  fire,  and  he  would  not  scruple  to  use 
the  two  cannon  of  the  town.  Meantime  food  would  be 
sent  daily  in  a  boat  under  an  armed  escort.  The  skipper, 
bare  to  the  waist,  and  rowing,  could  only  grind  his  teeth; 
and  the  Governor  improved  the  occasion,  and  revenged 
himself  for  the  bitter  words  in  the  cables,  by  telling 
what  he  thought  of  the  morals  and  manners  of  the  crew. 
The  barge  returned  to  the  'Haliotis'  in  silence,  and  the 
skipper  climbed  aboard,  white  on  the  cheek-bones  and 
blue  about  the  nostrils. 

'I  knew  it,'  said  Mr.  Wardrop;  'and  they  won't  give 
us  good  food,  either.  We  shall  have  bananas  morning, 
noon,  and  night,  an'  a  man  can't  work  on  fruit.  We 
know  that.' 

Then  the  skipper  cursed  Mr.  Wardrop  for  importing 
frivolous  side-issues  into  the  conversation;  and  the  crew 
cursed  one  another,  and  the  'Haliotis,'  the  voyage,  and 
all  that  they  knew  or  could  bring  to  mind.  They  sat 
down  in  silence  on  the  empty  decks,  and  their  eyes 
burned  in  their  heads.  The  green  harbour  water  chuckled 
at  them  overside.  They  looked  at  the  palm-fringed 
hills  inland,  at  the  white  houses  above  the  harbour  road, 
at  the  single  tier  of  native  craft  by  the  quay,  at  the 

153 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

stolid  soldiery  sitting  round  the  two  cannon,  and,  last 
of  all,  at  the  blue  bar  of  the  horizon.  Mr.  Wardrop  was 
buried  in  thought,  and  scratched  imaginary  lines  with 
his  untrimmed  finger-nails  on  the  planking. 

'I  make  no  promise,'  he  said  at  last,  'for  I  can't  say 
what  may  or  may  not  have  happened  to  them.  But 
here's  the  ship,  and  here's  us.' 

There  was  a  little  scornful  laughter  at  this,  and  Mr. 
Wardrop  knitted  his  brows.  He  recalled  that  in  the 
days  when  he  wore  trousers  he  had  been  chief  engineer 
ofthe'Haliotis.' 

*Harland,  Mackesy,  Noble,  Hay,  Naughton,  Fink, 
O'Hara,  Trumbull.' 

'Here,  sir!'  The  instinct  of  obedience  waked  to  an- 
swer the  roll-call  of  the  engine-room. 

'Below!' 

They  rose  and  went. 

*  Captain,  I'll  trouble  you  for  the  rest  of  the  men  as  I 
want  them.  W^e'll  get  my  stores  out,  and  clear  away 
the  shores  we  don't  need,  and  then  we'll  patch  her  up. 
My  men  will  remember  that  they're  in  the  "Haliotis" — 
under  me.' 

He  went  into  the  engine-room,  and  the  others  stared. 
They  were  used  to  the  accidents  of  the  sea,  but  this 
was  beyond  their  experience.  None  who  had  seen  the 
engine-room  believed  that  anything  short  of  new  en- 
gines from  end  to  end  could  stir  the  '  Haliotis '  from  her 
moorings. 

The  engine-room  stores  were  unearthed,  and  Mr. 
Wardrop' s  face,  red  with  the  filth  of  the  bilges  and  the 
exertion  of  travelling  on  his  stomach,  lit  with  joy.  The 
spare  gear  of  the '  Haliotis '  had  been  unusually  complete, 
and  two-and-twenty  men,  armed  with  screw-jacks,  dif- 

154 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

ferential  blocks,  tackle,  vices,  and  a  forge  or  so,  can 
look  Kismet  between  the  eyes  without  winking.  The 
crew  were  ordered  to  replace  the  holding-down  and 
shaft-bearing  bolts,  and  return  the  collars  of  the  thrust- 
block.  When  they  had  finished,  Mr.  Wardrop  delivered 
a  lecture  on  repairing  compound  engines  without  the  aid 
of  the  shops  while  the  men  sat  about  on  the  cold  ma- 
chinery. The  cross-head  jammed  in  the  guides  leered 
at  them  drunkenly,  but  offered  no  help.  They  ran  their 
fingers  hopelessly  into  the  cracks  of  the  starboard  sup- 
porting-column, and  picked  at  the  ends  of  the  ropes 
round  the  shores,  while  Mr.  Wardrop's  voice  rose  and 
fell  echoing,  till  the  quick  tropic  night  closed  down  over 
the  engine-room  skylight. 

Next  morning  the  work  of  reconstruction  began. 

It  has  been  explained  that  the  foot  of  the  connecting- 
rod  was  forced  against  the  foot  of  the  starboard  support- 
ing-column, which,  it  had  cracked  through  and  driven 
outward  towards  the  ship's  skin.  To  all  appearance 
the  job  was  more  than  hopeless,  for  rod  and  column 
seemed  to  have  been  welded  into  one.  But  herein 
Providence  smiled  on  them  for  one  moment  to  hearten 
them  through  the  weary  weeks  ahead.  The  second 
engineer — more  reckless  than  resourceful — struck  at 
random  with  a  cold  chisel  into  the  cast-iron  of  the 
column,  and  a  greasy,  gray  flake  of  metal  flew  from  under 
the  imprisoned  foot  of  the  connecting-rod,  while  the  rod 
itself  fell  away  slowly,  and  brought  up  with  a  thunder- 
ous clang  somewhere  in  the  dark  of  the  crank-pit.  The 
guide-plates  above  were  still  jammed  fast  in  the  guides, 
but  the  first  blow  had  been  struck.  They  spent  the 
rest  of  the  day  grooming  the  cargo-winch,  which  stood 
immediately  forward  of  the  engine-room  hatch.     Its 

155 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

tarpaulin,  of  course,  had  been  stolen,  and  eight  warm 
months  had  not  improved  the  working  parts.  Further, 
the  last  dying  hiccup  of  the  'Haliotis'  seemed — or  it 
might  have  been  the  Malay  from  the  boat-house — to 
have  lifted  the  thing  bodily  from  its  bolts,  and  set  it 
down  inaccurately  as  regarded  its  steam  connections. 

'  If  we  only  had  one  single  cargo-derrick ! '  Mr.  War- 
drop  sighed.  'We  can  take  the  cylinder-cover  off  by 
hand,  if  we  sweat;  but  to  get  the  rod  out  o'  the  piston's 
not  possible  unless  we  use  steam.  Well,  there'll  be 
steam  the  morn,  if  there's  nothing  else.     She'll  fizzle ! ' 

Next  morning  men  from  the  shore  saw  the  'Haliotis' 
through  a  cloud,  for  it  was  as  though  the  decks  smoked. 
Her  crew  were  chasing  steam  through  the  shaken  and 
leakypipestoitswork  in  the  forward  donkey-engine;  and 
where  oakum  failed  to  plug  a  crack,  they  stripped  off 
their  loin-cloths  for  lapping,  and  swore,  half-boiled  and 
mother-naked.  The  donkey-engine  worked — at  a  price 
— the  price  of  constant  attention  and  furious  stoking — 
worked  long  enough  to  allow  a  wire  rope  (it  was  made 
up  of  a  funnel  and  a  foremast-stay)  to  be  led  into  the 
engine-room  and  made  fast  on  the  cylinder-cover  of  the 
forward  engine.  That  rose  easily  enough,  and  was 
hauled  through  the  skylight  and  on  to  the  deck;  many 
hands  assisting  the  doubtful  steam.  Then  came  the 
tug  of  war,  for  it  was  necessary  to  get  to  the  piston  and 
the  jammed  piston-rod.  They  removed  two  of  the 
piston  junk-ring  studs,  screwed  in  two  strong  iron  eye- 
bolts  by  way  of  handles,  doubled  the  wire  rope,  and  set 
half-a-dozen  men  to  smite  with  an  extemporised  batter- 
ing-ram at  the  end  of  the  piston-rod,  where  it  peered 
through  the  piston,  while  the  donkey-engine  hauled 
upwards  on  the  piston  itself.     After  four  hours  of  this 

156 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

killing  work  the  piston-rod  suddenly  slipped,  and  the 
piston  rose  with  a  jerk,  knocking  one  or  two  men  over 
into  the  engine-room.  But  when  Mr.  Wardrop  declared 
that  the  piston  had  not  split,  they  cheered,  and  thought 
nothing  of  their  wounds;  and  the  donkey-engine  was 
hastily  stopped;  its  boiler  was  no  thing  to  tamper 
with. 

And  day  by  day  their  supplies  reached  them  by  boat. 
The  skipper  humbled  himself  once  more  before  the 
Governor,  and  as  a  concession  had  leave  to  get  drinking- 
water  from  the  Malay  boat-builder  on  the  quay.  It  was 
not  good  drinking-water,  but  the  Malay  was  anxious  to 
supply  anything  in  his  power,  if  he  were  paid  for  it. 

Now,  when  the  jaws  of  the  forward  engine  stood,  as  it 
were,  stripped  and  empty,  they  began  to  wedge  up  the 
shores  of  the  cylinder  itself.  That  work  alone  filled  the 
better  part  of  three  days — warm  and  sticky  days,  when 
the  hands  slipped  and  sweat  ran  into  the  eyes.  When 
the  last  wedge  was  hammered  home  there  was  no  longer 
an  ounce  of  weight  on  the  supporting-columns;  and  Mr. 
Wardrop  rummaged  the  ship  for  boiler-plate  three- 
quarters  of  an  inch  thick,  where  he  could  find  it.  There 
was  not  much  available,  but  what  there  was  was  more 
than  beaten  gold  to  him.  In  one  desperate  forenoon 
the  entire  crew,  naked  and  lean,  haled  back,  more  or  less 
to  place,  the  starboard  supporting-column,  which,  as 
you  remember,  was  cracked  clean  through.  Mr.  War- 
drop  found  them  asleep  where  they  had  finished  the 
work,  and  gave  them  a  day's  rest,  smiling  upon  them  as 
a  father  while  he  drew  chalk-marks  about  the  cracks. 
They  woke  to  new  and  more  trying  labour;  for  over  each 
one  of  those  cracks  a  plate  of  three-quarter-inch  boiler- 
iron  was  to  be  worked  hot,  the  rivet-holes  being  drilled 

157 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

by  hand.     All  that  time  they  were  fed  on  fruits,  chiefly 
bananas,  with  some  sago. 

Those  were  the  days  when  the  men  swooned  over  the 
ratchet-drill  and  the  hand-forge,  and  where  they  fell 
they  had  leave  to  lie  unless  their  bodies  were  in  the  way 
of  their  fellows'  feet.  And  so,  patch  upon  patch,  and  a 
patch  over  all,  the  starboard  supporting-column  was 
clouted;  but  w^hen  they  thought  all  was  secure,  Mr. 
Wardrop  decreed  that  the  noble  patchwork  would  never 
support  working  engines;  at  the  best,  it  could  only  hold 
the  guide-bars  approximately  true.  The  dead  weight 
of  the  cylinders  must  be  borne  by  vertical  struts;  and, 
therefore,  a  gang  would  repair  to  the  bows,  and  take  out, 
with  files,  the  big  bow-anchor  davits,  each  of  which  was 
some  three  inches  in  diameter.  They  threw  hot  coals 
at  Wardrop,  and  threatened  to  kill  him,  those  who  did 
not  weep  (they  were  ready  to  weep  on  the  least  provo- 
cation); but  he  hit  them  with  iron  bars  heated  at  the 
end,  and  they  limped  forward,  and  the  davits  came  with 
them  when  they  returned.  They  slept  sixteen  hours  on 
the  strength  of  it,  and  in  three  days  two  struts  were  in 
place,  bolted  from  the  foot  of  the  starboard  support- 
ing-column to  the  under  side  of  the  cylinder.  There 
remained  now  the  port,  or  condenser-column,  which, 
though  not  so  badly  cracked  as  its  fellow,  had  also  been 
strengthened  in  four  places  with  boiler-plate  patches, 
but  needed  struts.  They  took  away  the  main  stan- 
chions of  the  bridge  for  that  work,  and,  crazy  with  toil, 
did  not  see  till  all  was  in  place  that  the  rounded  bars  of 
iron  must  be  flattened  from  top  to  bottom  to  allow  the 
air-pump  levers  to  clear  them.  It  was  Wardrop's  over- 
sight, and  he  wept  bitterly  before  the  men  as  he  gave 
the  order  to  unbolt  the  struts  and  flatten  them  with 

158 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

hammer  and  the  flame.  Now  the  broken  engine  was 
under-pinned  firmly,  and  they  took  away  the  wooden 
shores  from  under  the  cylinders,  and  gave  them  to  the 
robbed  bridge,  thanking  God  for  even  half  a  day's  work 
on  gentle,  kindly  wood  instead  of  the  iron  that  had  en- 
tered into  their  souls.  Eight  months  in  the  back  country 
among  the  leeches,  at  a  temperature  of  85  degrees  moist, 
is  very  bad  for  the  nerves. 

They  had  kept  the  hardest  work  to  the  last,  as  boys 
save  Latin  prose,  and,  worn  though  they  were,  Mr. 
Wardrop  did  not  dare  to  give  them  rest.  The  piston- 
rod  and  connecting-rod  were  to  be  straightened,  and 
this  was  a  job  for  a  regular  dockyard  with  every  appli- 
ance. They  fell  to  it,  cheered  by  a  little  chalk-showing 
of  work  done  and  time  consumed  which  Mr.  Wardrop 
wrote  up  on  the  engine-room  bulk-head.  Fifteen  days 
had  gone — fifteen  days  of  killing  labour — and  there  was 
hope  before  them. 

It  is  curious  that  no  man  knows  how  the  rods  were 
straightened.  The  crew  of  the  'Haliotis'  remember 
that  week  very  dimly,  as  a  fever  patient  remembers  the 
delirium  of  a  long  night.  There  were  fires  everywhere, 
they  say;  the  whole  ship  was  one  consuming  furnace, 
and  the  hammers  were  never  still.  Now,  there  could 
not  have  been  more  than  one  fire  at  the  most,  for  Mr. 
Wardrop  distinctly  recalls  that  no  straightening  was 
done  except  under  his  own  eye.  They  remember,  too, 
that  for  many  years  voices  gave  orders  which  they 
obeyed  with  their  bodies,  but  their  minds  were  abroad 
on  all  the  seas.  It  seems  to  them  that  they  stood 
through  days  and  nights  slowly  sliding  a  bar  backwards 
and  forwards  through  a  white  glow  that  was  part  of  the 
ship.    They  remember  an  intolerable  noise  in  their  burn- 

159 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

ing  heads  from  the  walls  of  the  stoke-hole,  and  they 
remember  being  savagely  beaten  by  men  whose  eyes 
seemed  asleep.  When  their  shift  was  over  they  would 
draw  straight  lines  in  the  air,  anxiously  and  repeatedly, 
and  would  question  one  another  in  their  sleep,  crying, 
'Is  she  straight?' 

At  last — they  do  not  remember  whether  this  was  by 
day  or  by  night — Mr.  Wardrop  began  to  dance  clumsily, 
and  wept  the  while;  and  they  too  danced  and  wept,  and 
went  to  sleep  twitching  all  over;  and  when  they  woke, 
men  said  that  the  rods  were  straightened,  and  no  one 
did  any  work  for  two  days,  but  lay  on  the  decks  and  ate 
fruit.  Mr.  Wardrop  would  go  below  from  time  to  time, 
and  pat  the  two  rods  where  they  lay,  and  they  heard 
him  singing  hymns. 

Then  his  trouble  of  mind  went  from  him,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  third  day's  idleness  he  made  a  drawing  in 
chalk  upon  the  deck,  with  letters  of  the  alphabet  at  the 
angles.  He  pointed  out  that,  though  the  piston-rod 
was  more  or  less  straight,  the  piston-rod  cross-head — 
the  thing  that  had  been  jammed  sideways  in  the  guides 
— had  been  badly  strained,  and  had  cracked  the  lower 
end  of  the  piston-rod.  He  was  going  to  forge  and  shrink 
a  wrought-iron  collar  on  the  neck  of  the  piston-rod 
where  it  joined  the  cross-head,  and  from  the  collar  he 
would  bolt  a  Y-shaped  piece  of  iron  whose  lower  arms 
should  be  bolted  into  the  cross-head.  If  anything  more 
were  needed,  they  could  use  up  the  last  of  the  boiler- 
plate. 

So  the  forges  were  lit  again,  and  men  burned  their 
bodies,  but  hardly  felt  the  pain.  The  finished  connec- 
tion was  not  beautiful,  but  it  seemed  strong  enough — 
at  least,  as  strong  as  the  rest  of  the  machinery;  and  with 

160 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

that  job  their  labours  came  to  an  end.  All  that  re- 
mained was  to  connect  up  the  engines,  and  to  get  food 
and  water.  The  skipper  and  four  men  dealt  with  the 
Malay  boat-builder — by  night  chiefly;  it  was  no  time 
to  haggle  over  the  price  of  sago  and  dried  fish.  The 
others  stayed  aboard  and  replaced  piston,  piston-rod, 
cylinder-cover,  cross-head,  and  bolts,  with  the  aid  of 
the  faithful  donkey-engine.  The  cylinder-cover  was 
hardly  steam-proof,  and  the  eye  of  science  might  have 
seen  in  the  connecting-rod  a  flexure  something  like  that 
of  a  Christmas-tree  candle  which  has  melted  and  been 
straightened  by  hand  over  a  stove,  but,  as  Mr.  Wardrop 
said,  'She  didn't  hit  anything.' 

As  soon  as  the  last  bolt  was  in  place,  men  tumbled 
over  one  another  in  their  anxiety  to  get  to  the  hand 
turning-gear,  the  wheel  and  the  worm,  by  which  some 
engines  can  be  moved  when  there  is  no  steam  aboard. 
They  nearly  wrenched  off  the  wheel,  but  it  was  evident 
to  the  blindest  eye  that  the  engines  stirred.  They  did 
not  revolve  in  their  orbits  with  any  enthusiasm,  as  good 
machines  should;  indeed,  they  groaned  not  a  little;  but 
they  moved  over  and  came  to  rest  in  a  way  which  proved 
that  they  still  recognised  man's  hand.  Then  Mr.  War- 
drop  sent  his  slaves  into  the  darker  bowels  of  the  engine- 
room  and  the  stoke-hole,  and  followed  them  with  a 
flare-lamp.  The  boilers  were  sound,  but  would  take  no 
harm  from  a  little  scaling  and  cleaning.  Mr.  Wardrop 
would  not  have  any  one  over-zealous,  for  he  feared  what 
the  next  stroke  of  the  tool  might  show.  'The  less  we 
know  about  her  now,'  said  he,  'the  better  for  us  all,  I'm 
thinkin'.  Ye'll  understand  me  when  I  say  that  this  is 
in  no  sense  regular  engineerin'.' 

As  his  raiment,  when  he  spoke,  was  his  gray  beard 

161 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

and  uncut  hair,  they  believed  him.  They  did  not  ask 
too  much  of  what  they  met,  but  poUshed  and  tallowed 
and  scraped  it  to  a  false  brilliancy. 

'A  lick  of  paint  would  make  me  easier  in  my  mind,' 
said  Mr.  Wardrop,  plaintively.  '  I  know  half  the  con- 
denser-tubes are  started;  and  the  propeller-shaftin'  's 
God  knows  how  far  out  of  the  true,  and  we'll  need  a  new 
air-pump,  an'  the  main-steam  leaks  like  a  sieve,  and 
there's  worse  each  way  I  look;  but — paint's  like  clothes 
to  a  man,  an'  ours  is  near  all  gone.' 

The  skipper  unearthed  some  stale  ropy  paint  of  the 
loathsome  green  that  they  used  for  the  galleys  of  sailing- 
ships,  and  Mr.  Wardrop  spread  it  abroad  lavishly  to 
give  the  engines  self-respect. 

His  own  was  returning  day  by  day,  for  he  wore  his 
loin-cloth  continuously;  but  the  crew,  having  worked 
under  orders,  did  not  feel  as  he  did.  The  completed 
work  satisfied  Mr.  Wardrop.  He  would  at  the  last  have 
made  shift  to  run  to  Singapore,  and,  gone  home,  without 
vengeance  taken,  to  show  his  engines  to  his  brethren  in 
the  craft;  but  the  others  and  the  captain  forbade  him. 
They  had  not  yet  recovered  their  self-respect. 

'  It  would  be  safer  to  make  what  ye  might  call  a  trial 
trip,  but  beggars  mustn't  be  choosers;  an'  if  the  engines 
will  go  over  to  the  hand  gear,  the  probability — I'm  only 
saying  it's  a  probability — the  chance  is  that  they'll  hold 
up  when  we  put  steam  on  her.' 

*  How  long  will  you  take  to  get  steam? '  said  the  skip- 
per. 

*God  knows!  Four  hours — a  day — half  a  week.  If 
I  can  raise  sixty  pound  I'll  not  complain.' 

*Be  sure  of  her  first;  we  can't  afford  to  go  out  half  a 
mile,  and  break  down.' 

162 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

*My  soul  and  body,  man,  we're  one  continuous  break- 
down, fore  an'  aft!     We  might  fetch  Singapore,  though.' 

'We'll  break  down  at  Pygang-Watai,  where  we  can  do 
good,'  was  the  answer,  in  a  voice  that  did  not  allow 
argument.  *  She's  my  boat,  and — I've  had  eight  months 
to  think  in.' 

No  man  saw  the  'Haliotis'  depart,  though  many  heard 
her.  She  left  at  two  in  the  morning,  having  cut  her 
moorings,  and  it  was  none  of  her  crew's  pleasure  that 
the  engines  should  strike  up  a  thundering  half-seas- 
over  chanty  that  echoed  among  the  hills.  Mr.  Wardrop 
wiped  away  a  tear  as  he  listened  to  the  new  song. 

'She's  gibberin' — she's  just  gibberin','  he  whimpered. 
'  Yon's  the  voice  of  a  maniac' 

And  if  engines  have  any  soul,  as  their  masters  believe, 
he  was  quite  right.  There  were  outcries  and  clamours, 
sobs  and  bursts  of  chattering  laughter,  silences  where 
the  trained  ear  yearned  for  the  clear  note,  and  torturing 
reduplications  where  there  should  have  been  one  deep 
voice.  Down  the  screw-shaft  ran  murmurs  and  warnings, 
while  a  heart-diseased  flutter  without  told  that  the 
propeller  needed  re-keying. 

'How  does  she  make  it?'  said  the  skipper. 

*  She  moves,  but — but  she's  breakin'  my  heart.  The 
sooner  we're  at  Pygang-Watai,  the  better.  She's  mad, 
and  we're  waking  the  town.' 

'  Is  she  at  all  near  safe? ' 

'What  do  I  care  how  safe  she  is!  She's  mad.  Hear 
that,  now!  To  be  sure,  nothing's  hittin'  anything,  and 
the  bearin's  are  fairly  cool,  but — can  ye  not  hear?' 

'If  she  goes,'  said  the  skipper,  'I  don't  care  a  curse. 
And  she's  my  boat,  too.' 

She  went,  trailing  a  fathom   of  weed  behind  her. 

163 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

From  a  slow  two  knots  an  hour  she  crawled  up  to  a 
triumphant  four.  Anything  beyond  that  made  the 
struts  quiver  dangerously,  and  filled  the  engine-room 
with  steam.  Morning  showed  her  out  of  sight  of  land, 
and  there  was  a  visible  ripple  under  her  bows;  but  she 
complained  bitterly  in  her  bowels,  and,  as  though  the 
noise  had  called  it,  there  shot  along  across  the  purple 
sea  a  swift,  dark  proa,  hawk-hke  and  curious,  which 
presently  ranged  alongside  and  wished  to  know  if  the 
'Haliotis'  were  helpless.  Ships,  even  the  steamers  of 
the  white  men,  had  been  known  to  break  down  in  those 
waters,  and  the  honest  Malay  and  Javanese  traders 
would  sometimes  aid  them  in  their  own  peculiar  way. 
But  this  ship  was  not  full  of  lady  passengers  and  well- 
dressed  officers.  Men,  white,  naked  and  savage, 
swarmed  down  her  sides — some  with  red-hot  iron  bars 
and  others  with  large  hammers — threw  themselves  upon 
those  innocent  inquiring  strangers,  and,  before  any  man 
could  say  what  had  happened,  were  in  full  possession 
of  the  proa,  while  the  lawful  owners  bobbed  in  the  water 
overside.  Half  an  hour  later  the  proa's  cargo  of  sago 
and  tripang,  as  well  as  a  doubtful-minded  compass, 
was  in  the  'Haliotis.'  The  two  huge  triangular  mat 
sails,  with  their  seventy-foot  yards,  had  followed  the 
cargo,  and  were  being  fitted  to  the  stripped  masts  of  the 
steamer. 

They  rose,  they  swelled,  they  filled,  and  the  empty 
steamer  visibly  laid  over  as  the  wind  took  them.  They 
gave  her  nearly  three  knots  an  hour,  and  what  better 
could  men  ask?  But  if  she  had  been  forlorn  before,  this 
new  purchase  made  her  horrible  to  see.  Imagine  a 
respectable  charwoman  in  the  tights  of  a  ballet-dancer 
rolling  drunk  along  the  streets,  and  you  will  come  to 

164 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

some  faint  notion  of  the  appearance  of  that  nine-hun- 
dred-ton well-decked  once  schooner-rigged  cargo-boat  as 
she  staggered  under  her  new  help,  shouting  and  raving 
across  the  deep.  With  steam  and  sail  that  marvellous 
voyage  continued;  and  the  bright-eyed  crew  looked 
over  the  rail,  desolate,  unkempt,  unshorn,  shamelessly 
clothed — beyond  the  decencies. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  week  she  sighted  the  island  of 
Pygang-Watai,  whose  harbour  is  the  turning-point  of  a 
pearling  sea-patrol.  Here  the  gunboats  stay  for  a  week 
ere  they  retrace  their  line.  There  is  no  village  at  Py- 
gang-Watai, only  a  stream  of  water,  some  palms,  and  a 
harbour  safe  to  rest  in  till  the  first  violence  of  the  south- 
east monsoon  has  blown  itself  out.  They  opened  up  the 
low  coral  beach,  with  its  mound  of  whitewashed  coal 
ready  for  supply,  the  deserted  huts  for  the  sailors,  and 
the  flagless  flagstaff. 

Next  day  there  was  no  'Haliotis' — only  a  little  proa 
rocking  in  the  warm  rain  at  the  mouth  of  the  harbour, 
whose  crew  watched  with  hungry  eyes  the  smoke  of  a 
gunboat  on  the  horizon. 

Months  afterwards  there  were  a  few  lines  in  an  Eng- 
lish newspaper  to  the  effect  that  some  gunboat  of  some 
foreign  Power  had  broken  her  back  at  the  mouth  of  some 
far-away  harbour  by  running  at  full  speed  into  a  sunken 
wreck. 


165 


I 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

(1895) 
PART  I 

I  have  done  one  braver  thing 

Than  all  the  worthies  did; 
And  yet  a  braver  thence  doth  spring, 

Which  is  to  keep  that  hid. 

'The  Undertaking.' 

*  '■'  S  it  officially  declared  yet? ' 

'They've  gone  as  far  as  to  admit  extreme  local 
scarcity,  and  they've  started  relief-works  in  one  or 
two  districts,  the  paper  says.' 

'That  means  it  will  be  declared  as  soon  as  they  can 
make  sure  of  the  men  and  the  rolling-stock.  Shouldn't 
wonder  if  it  were  as  bad  as  the  Big  Famine.' 

'Can't  be,'  said  Scott,  turning  a  little  in  the  long  cane 
chair.  'We've  had  fifteen-anna  crops  in  the  north,  and 
Bombay  and  Bengal  report  more  than  they  know  what 
to  do  with.  They'll  be  able  to  check  it  before  it  gets 
out  of  hand.     It  will  only  be  local.' 

Marty n  picked  up  the  'Pioneer'  from  the  table,  read 
through  the  telegrams  once  more,  and  put  up  his  feet  on 
the  chair-rests.  It  was  a  hot,  dark,  breathless  evening, 
heavy  with  the  smell  of  the  newly-watered  Mall.  The 
flowers  in  the  Club  gardens  were  dead  and  black  on 

166 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

their  stalks,  the  little  lotus-pond  was  a  circle  of  caked 
mud,  and  the  tamarisk-trees  were  white  with  the  dust 
of  days.  Most  of  the  men  were  at  the  bandstand  in  the 
public  gardens — from  the  Club  veranda  you  could  hear 
the  native  Police  band  hammering  stale  waltzes — or  on 
the  polo-ground  or  in  the  high-walled  fives-court,  hotter 
than  a  Dutch  oven.  Half  a  dozen  grooms,  squatted  at 
the  heads  of  their  ponies,  waited  their  masters'  return. 
From  time  to  time  a  man  would  ride  at  a  foot-pace 
into  the  Club  compound,  and  listlessly  loaf  over  to  the 
whitewashed  barracks  beside  the  main  building.  These 
were  supposed  to  be  chambers.  Men  lived  in  them, 
meeting  the  same  faces  night  after  night  at  dinner, 
and  drawing  out  their  ofTice-work  till  the  latest  possible 
hour,  that  they  might  escape  that  doleful  company. 

*What  are  you  going  to  do?'  said  Martyn,  with  a 
yawn.     '  Let's  have  a  swim  before  dinner.' 

*  Water's  hot,'  said  Scott.     '  I  was  at  the  bath  to-day.' 
*Play  you  game  o'  billiards — fifty  up.' 

*  It's  a  hundred  and  five  in  the  hall  now.  Sit  still  and 
don't  be  so  abominably  energetic' 

A  grunting  camel  swung  up  to  the  porch,  his  badged 
and  belted  rider  fumbling  a  leather  pouch. 

*  Kubber-kargaz — ki — yektraaa,'  the  man  whined, 
handing  down  the  newspaper  extra — a  slip  printed  on 
one  side  only,  and  damp  from  the  press.  It  was  pinned 
on  the  green  baize-board,  between  notices  of  ponies  for 
sale  and  fox-terriers  missing. 

Martyn  rose  lazily,  read  it,  and  whistled.  'It's 
declared ! '  he  cried.  '  One,  two,  three — eight  districts 
go  under  the  operations  of  the  Famine  Code  ek  dum. 
They've  put  Jimmy  Hawkins  in  charge.' 

*Good  business!'  said  Scott,  with  the  first  sign  of 

167 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

interest  he  had  shown.  '  When  in  doubt  hire  a  Punjabi. 
I  worked  under  Jimmy  when  I  first  came  out  and  he 
belonged  to  the  Punjab.  He  has  more  bundobust  than 
most  men.' 

*  Jimmy's  a  Jubilee  Knight  now,'  said  Martyn.  'He 
was  a  good  chap,  even  though  he  is  a  thrice-born  civilian 
and  went  to  the  Benighted  Presidency.  What  unholy 
names  these  Madras  districts  rejoice  in — all  "ungas"  or 
"rungas"  or  "pillays"  or  "polliums."' 

A  dog-cart  drove  up,  and  a  man  entered,  mopping  his 
head.  He  was  editor  of  the  one  daily  paper  at  the  capi- 
tal of  a  province  of  twenty-five  million  natives  and  a  few 
hundred  white  men,  and  as  his  staff  was  limited  to  him- 
self and  one  assistant,  his  office  hours  ran  variously  from 
ten  to  twenty  a  day. 

*Hi,  Raines;  you're  supposed  to  know  everything,'  said 
Martyn,  stopping  him.  'How's  this  Madras  "scarc- 
ity" going  to  turn  out?' 

'No  one  knows  as  yet.  There's  a  message  as  long  as 
your  arm  coming  in  on  the  telephone.  I've  left  my  cub 
to  fill  it  out.  Madras  has  owned  she  can't  manage  it 
alone,  and  Jimmy  seems  to  have  a  free  hand  in  getting 
all  the  men  he  needs.  Arbuthnot's  warned  to  hold 
himself  in  readiness.' 

*  "Badger"  Arbuthnot?' 

*The  Peshawur  chap.  Yes,  and  the  "Pi"  wires  that 
Ellis  and  Clay  have  been  moved  from  the  North- West 
already,  and  they've  taken  half  a  dozen  Bombay  men, 
too.     It's  pukka  famine,  by  the  looks  of  it.' 

*  They're  nearer  the  scene  of  action  than  we  are;  but 
if  it  comes  to  indenting  on  the  Punjab  this  early,  there's 
more  in  this  than  meets  the  eye,'  said  Martyn. 

'Here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow.     Didn't  come  to 

168 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

stay  for  ever,'  said  Scott,  dropping  one  of  Marryat's 
novels,  and  rising  to  his  feet.  'Martyn,  your  sister's 
waiting  for  you.' 

A  rough  gray  horse  was  backing  and  shifting  at  the 
edge  of  the  veranda,  where  the  hght  of  a  kerosene-lamp 
fell  on  a  brown  calico  habit  and  a  white  face  under  a 
gray  felt  hat. 

'Right  0,'  said  Martyn.  'I'm  ready.  Better  come 
and  dine  with  us  if  you've  nothing  to  do,  Scott.  Wil- 
liam, is  there  any  dinner  in  the  house? ' 

'I'll  go  home  first  and  see,'  was  the  rider's  answer. 
'You  can  drive  him  over — at  eight,  remember.' 

Scott  moved  leisurely  to  his  room,  and  changed  into 
the  evening-dress  of  the  season  and  the  country:  spotless 
white  linen  from  head  to  foot,  with  a  broad  silk  cummer- 
bund. Dinner  at  the  Martyns'  was  a  decided  improve- 
ment on  the  goat-mutton,  twiney-tough  fowl,  and  tinned 
entrees  of  the  Club.  But  it  was  a  great  pity  Martyn 
could  not  afford  to  send  his  sister  to  the  Hills  for  the 
hot  weather.  As  an  Acting  District  Superintendent  of 
Police,  Martyn  drew  the  magnificent  pay  of  six  hundred 
depreciated  silver  rupees  a  month,  and  his  little  four- 
roomed  bungalow  said  just  as  much.  There  were  the 
usual  blue-and-white  striped  jail-made  rugs  on  the 
uneven  floor;  the  usual  glass-studded  Amritsar  phul- 
karis  draped  to  nails  driven  into  the  flaking  whitewash 
of  the  walls;  the  usual  half-dozen  chairs  that  did  not 
match,  picked  up  at  sales  of  dead  men's  effects;  and 
the  usual  streaks  of  black  grease  where  the  leather 
punka-thong  ran  through  the  wall.  It  was  as  though 
everything  had  been  unpacked  the  night  before  to  be 
repacked  next  morning.  Not  a  door  in  the  house  was 
true  to  its  hinges.    The  little  windows,  fifteen  feet  up, 

169 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

were  darkened  with  wasp-nests,  and  lizards  hunted  flies 
between  the  beams  of  the  wood-ceiled  roof.  But  all 
this  was  part  of  Scott's  life.  Thus  did  people  live  who 
had  such  an  income;  and  in  a  land  where  each  man's 
pay,  age,  and  position  are  printed  in  a  book,  that  all  may 
read,  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  play  at  pretences  in 
word  or  deed.  Scott  counted  eight  years'  service  in 
the  Irrigation  Department,  and  drew  eight  hundred 
rupees  a  month,  on  the  understanding  that  if  he  served 
the  State  faithfully  for  another  twenty-two  years  he 
could  retire  on  a  pension  of  some  four  hundred  rupees  a 
month.  His  working  life,  which  had  been  spent  chiefly 
under  canvas  or  in  temporary  shelters  where  a  man 
could  sleep,  eat,  and  write  letters,  was  bound  up  with 
the  opening  and  guarding  of  irrigation  canals,  the  han- 
dling of  two  or  three  thousand  workmen  of  all  castes  and 
creeds,  and  the  payment  of  vast  sums  of  coined  silver. 
He  had  finished  that  spring,  not  without  credit,  the  last 
section  of  the  great  Mosuhl  Canal,  and — ^much  against 
his  will,  for  he  hated  office  work — had  been  sent  in  to 
serve  during  the  hot  weather  on  the  accounts  and  supply 
side  of  the  Department,  with  sole  charge  of  the  swelter- 
ing sub-office  at  the  capital  of  the  Province.  Martyn 
knew  this;  William,  his  sister,  knew  it;  and  everybody 
knew  it. 

Scott  knew,  too,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  the  world,  that 
Miss  Martyn  had  come  out  to  India  four  years  before, 
to  keep  house  for  her  brother,  who,  as  every  one,  again, 
knew,  had  borrowed  the  money  to  pay  for  her  passage, 
and  that  she  ought,  as  all  the  world  said,  to  have  mar- 
ried long  ago.  Instead  of  this,  she  had  refused  some 
half  a  dozen  subalterns,  a  civilian  twenty  years  her 
senior,  one  major,  and  a  man  in  the  Indian  Medical 

170 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

Department.  This,  too,  was  common  property.  She 
had  'stayed  down  three  hot  weathers,'  as  the  saying  is, 
because  her  brother  was  in  debt  and  could  not  afford 
the  expense  of  her  keep  at  even  a  cheap  hill-station. 
Therefore  her  face  was  white  as  bone,  and  in  the  centre 
of  her  forehead  was  a  big  silvery  scar  about  the  size  of  a 
shilling — the  mark  of  a  Delhi  sore,  which  is  the  same  as 
a  'Bagdad  date.'  This  comes  from  drinking  bad  water, 
and  slowly  eats  into  the  flesh  till  it  is  ripe  enough  to  be 
burned  out  with  acids. 

None  the  less  William  had  enjoyed  herself  hugely  in 
her  four  years.  Twice  she  had  been  nearly  drowned 
while  fording  a  river  on  horseback;  once  she  had  been 
run  away  with  on  a  camel;  had  witnessed  a  midnight 
attack  of  thieves  on  her  brother's  camp;  had  seen  justice 
administered,  with  long  sticks,  in  the  open  under  trees; 
could  speak  Urdu  and  even  rough  Punjabi  with  a  fluency 
that  was  envied  by  her  seniors;  had  altogether  fallen 
out  of  the  habit  of  writing  to  her  aunts  in  England,  or 
cutting  the  pages  of  the  English  magazines;  had  been 
through  a  very  bad  cholera  year,  seeing  sights  unfit  to 
be  told;  and  had  wound  up  her  experiences  by  six  weeks 
of  typhoid  fever,  during  which  her  head  had  been  shaved; 
and  hoped  to  keep  her  twenty-third  birthday  that  Sep- 
tember. It  is  conceivable  that  her  aunts  would  not  have 
approved  of  a  girl  who  never  set  foot  on  the  ground  if  a 
horse  were  within  hail ;  who  rode  to  dances  with  a  shawl 
thrown  over  her  skirt;  who  wore  her  hair  cropped  and 
curling  all  over  her  head ;  who  answered  indifferently  to 
the  name  of  William  or  Bill;  whose  speech  was  heavy 
with  the  flowers  of  the  vernacular;  who  could  act  in 
amateur  theatricals,  play  on  the  banjo,  rule  eight  ser- 
vants and  two  horses,  their  accounts  and  their  diseases, 

171 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

and  look  men  slowly  and  deliberately  between  the  eyes 
— yea,  after  they  had  proposed  to  her  and  been  rejected. 

'  I  like  men  who  do  things,'  she  had  confided  to  a  man 
in  the  Educational  Department,  who  was  teaching  the 
sons  of  cloth  merchants  and  dyers  the  beauty  of  Words- 
worth's 'Excursion'  in  annotated  cram-books;  and  when 
he  grew  poetical,  William  explained  that  she  'didn't 
understand  poetry  very  much;  it  made  her  head  ache,' 
and  another  broken  heart  took  refuge  at  the  Club. 
But  it  was  all  William's  fault.  She  delighted  in  hearing 
men  talk  of  their  own  work,  and  that  is  the  most  fatal 
way  of  bringing  a  man  to  your  feet. 

Scott  had  known  her  more  or  less  for  some  three  years, 
meeting  her,  as  a  rule,  under  canvas  when  his  camp  and 
her  brother's  joined  for  a  day  on  the  edge  of  the  Indian 
Desert.  He  had  danced  with  her  several  times  at  the 
big  Christmas  gatherings,  when  as  many  as  five  hundred 
white  people  came  into  the  station;  and  he  had  always 
a  great  respect  for  her  housekeeping  and  her  dinners. 

She  looked  more  like  a  boy  than  ever  when,  after 
their  meal,  she  sat,  one  foot  tucked  under  her,  on  the 
leather  camp-sofa,  rolling  cigarettes  for  her  brother,  her 
low  forehead  puckered  beneath  the  dark  curls  as  she 
twiddled  the  papers.  She  stuck  out  her  rounded  chin 
when  the  tobacco  stayed  in  place,  and,  with  a  gesture 
as  true  as  a  school-boy's  throwing  a  stone,  tossed  the 
finished  article  across  the  room  to  Martyn,  who  caught 
it  with  one  hand,  and  continued  his  talk  with  Scott.  It 
was  all  'shop,' — canals  and  the  policing  of  canals;  the 
sins  of  villagers  who  stole  more  water  than  they  had  paid 
for,  and  the  grosser  sin  of  native  constables  who  con- 
nived at  the  thefts;  of  the  transplanting  bodily  of  vil- 
lages to  newly  irrigated  ground,  and  of  the  coming  fight 

172 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

with  the  desert  in  the  south  when  the  Provincial  funds 
should  warrant  the  opening  of  the  long-surveyed  Luni 
Protective  Canal  System.  And  Scott  spoke  openly  of 
his  great  desire  to  be  put  on  one  particular  section  of 
the  work  where  he  knew  the  land  and  the  people,  and 
Martyn  sighed  for  a  billet  in  the  Himalayan  foot-hills, 
and  spoke  his  mind  of  his  superiors,  and  William  rolled 
cigarettes  and  said  nothing,  but  smiled  gravely  on  her 
brother  because  he  was  happy. 

At  ten  Scott's  horse  came  to  the  door,  and  the  evening 
was  ended. 

The  lights  of  the  two  low  bungalows  in  which  the 
daily  paper  was  printed  showed  bright  across  the  road. 
It  was  too  early  to  try  to  find  sleep,  and  Scott  drifted 
over  to  the  editor.  Raines,  stripped  to  the  waist  like  a 
sailor  at  a  gun,  lay  in  a  long  chair,  waiting  for  night 
telegrams.  He  had  a  theory  that  if  a  man  did  not  stay 
by  his  work  all  day  and  most  of  the  night  he  laid  him- 
self open  to  fever;  so  he  ate  and  slept  among  his  files. 

*Can  you  do  it?'  he  said  drowsily.  'I  didn't  mean  to 
bring  you  over.' 

'About  what?     I've  been  dining  at  the  Martyns'.' 

*The  famine,  of  course.  Marty n's  warned  for  it,  too. 
They're  taking  men  where  they  can  find  'em.  I  sent  a 
note  to  you  at  the  Club  just  now,  asking  if  you  could  do 
us  a  letter  once  a  week  from  the  south — between  two 
and  three  columns,  say.  Nothing  sensational,  of  course, 
but  just  plain  facts  about  who  is  doing  what,  and  so 
forth.     Our  regular  rates — ten  rupees  a  column.' 

'Sorry,  but  it's  out  of  my  line,'  Scott  answered,  star- 
ing absently  at  the  map  of  India  on  the  wall.  'It's 
rough  on  Martyn — very.  Wonder  what  he'll  do  with 
his  sister.     Wonder  what  the  deuce  they'll  do  with  me. 

173 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

I've  no  famine  experience.  This  is  the  first  I've  heard 
of  it.     Am  I  ordered? ' 

'  Oh,  yes.  Here's  the  wire.  They'll  put  you  on  relief- 
works,'  Raines  went  on,  'with  a  horde  of  Madrassis 
dying  like  flies;  one  native  apothecary  and  half  a  pint 
of  cholera-mixture  among  the  ten  thousand  of  you.  It 
comes  of  your  being  idle  for  the  moment.  Every  man 
who  isn't  doing  two  men's  work  seems  to  have  been 
called  upon.  Hawkins  evidently  believes  in  Punjabis. 
It's  going  to  be  quite  as  bad  as  anything  they  have  had 
in  the  last  ten  years.' 

'It's  all  in  the  day's  work,  worse  luck.  I  suppose  I 
shall  get  my  orders  officially  some  time  to-morrow. 
I'm  glad  I  happened  to  drop  in.  Better  go  and  pack 
my  kit  now.     Who  relieves  me  here — do  you  know? ' 

Raines  turned  over  a  sheaf  of  telegrams.  'McEuan,' 
said  he,  'from  Murree.' 

Scott  chuckled.  'He  thought  he  was  going  to  be  cool 
all  summer.  He'll  be  very  sick  about  this.  Well,  no 
good  talking.     'Night.' 

Two  hours  later,  Scott,  with  a  clear  conscience,  laid 
himself  down  to  rest  on  a  string  cot  in  a  bare  room. 
Two  worn  bullock-trunks,  a  leather  water-bottle,  a  tin 
ice-box,  and  his  pet  saddle  sewed  up  in  sacking  were 
piled  at  the  door,  and  the  Club  secretary's  receipt  for 
last  month's  bill  was  under  his  pillow.  His  orders  came 
next  morning,  and  with  them  an  unofficial  telegram 
from  Sir  James  Hawkins,  who  did  not  forget  good  men, 
bidding  him  report  himself  with  all  speed  at  some  un- 
pronounceable place  fifteen  hundred  miles  to  the  south, 
for  the  famine  was  sore  in  the  land,  and  white  men  were 
needed. 

A  pink  and  fattish  youth  arrived  in  the  red-hot  noon- 

174 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

day,  whimpering  a  little  at  fate  and  famines,  which 
never  allowed  any  one  three  months'  peace.  He  was 
Scott's  successor — another  cog  in  the  machinery,  moved 
forward  behind  his  fellow,  whose  services,  as  the  official 
announcement  ran,  'were  placed  at  the  disposal  of  the 
Madras  Government  for  famine  duty  until  further 
orders.'  Scott  handed  over  the  funds  in  his  charge, 
showed  him  the  coolest  corner  in  the  office,  warned  him 
against  excess  of  zeal,  and,  as  twilight  fell,  departed 
from  the  Club  in  a  hired  carriage  with  his  faithful  body- 
servant,  Faiz  UUah,  and  a  mound  of  disordered  baggage 
atop,  to  catch  the  Southern  Mail  at  the  loopholed  and 
bastioned  railway-station.  The  heat  from  the  thick 
brick  walls  struck  him  across  the  face  as  if  it  had  been  a 
hot  towel,  and  he  reflected  that  there  were  at  least  five 
nights  and  four  days  of  travel  before  him.  Faiz  Ullah, 
used  to  the  chances  of  service,  plunged  into  the  crowd 
on  the  stone  platform,  while  Scott,  a  black  cheroot  be- 
tween his  teeth,  waited  till  his  compartment  should  be 
set  away.  A  dozen  native  policemen,  with  their  rifles 
and  bundles,  shouldered  into  the  press  of  Punjabi  farm- 
ers, Sikh  craftsmen,  and  greasy-locked  Afreedee  ped- 
lars, escorting  with  all  pomp  Martyn's  uniform-case, 
water-bottles,  ice-box,  and  bedding-roll.  They  saw  Faiz 
Ullah's  lifted  hand,  and  steered  for  it. 

'My  Sahib  and  your  Sahib,'  said  Faiz  Ullah  to  Mar- 
tyn's man,  'will  travel  together.  Thou  and  I,  0  brother, 
will  thus  secure  the  servants'  places  close  by,  and  be- 
cause of  our  masters'  authority  none  will  dare  to  disturb 
us.' 

When  Faiz  Ullah  reported  all  things  ready,  Scott 
'  settled  down  coatless  and  bootless  on  the  broad  leather- 
covered  bunk.     The  heat  under  the  iron-arched  roof  of 

175 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

the  station  might  have  been  anything  over  a  hundred 
degrees.  At  the  last  moment  Martyn  entered,  hot  and 
dripping. 

'Don't  swear,'  said  Scott  lazily;  'it's  too  late  to  change 
your  carriage;  and  we'll  divide  the  ice.' 

'  What  are  you  doing  here? '  said  the  policeman. 

'Lent  to  the  Madras  Government,  same  as  you.  By 
Jove,  it's  a  bender  of  a  night!  Are  you  taking  any  of 
your  men  down? ' 

'A  dozen.  Suppose  I'll  have  to  superintend  relief 
distributions.  Didn't  know  you  were  under  orders 
too.' 

'I  didn't  till  after  I  left  you  last  night.  Raines  had 
the  news  first.  My  orders  came  this  morning.  Mc- 
Euan  relieved  me  at  four,  and  I  got  off  at  once.  Shouldn't 
wonder  if  it  wouldn't  be  a  good  thing — this  famine — if 
we  come  through  it  alive.' 

'Jimmy  ought  to  put  you  and  me  to  work  together,' 
said  Martyn;  and  then,  after  a  pause:  'My  sister's  here.' 

'Good  business,'  said  Scott,  heartily.  'Going  to  get 
off  at  Umballa,  I  suppose,  and  go  up  to  Simla.  Who'll 
she  stay  with  there? ' 

' No-o ;  that's  just  the  trouble  of  it.  She's  going  down 
with  me.' 

Scott  sat  bolt  upright  under  the  oil  lamp  as  the  train 
jolted  past  Tarn-Taran  station.  'What!  You  don't 
mean  you  couldn't  afford — ' 

'Oh,  I'd  have  scraped  up  the  money  somehow.' 

'You  might  have  come  to  me,  to  begin  with,'  said 
Scott,  stiffly;  *we  aren't  altogether  strangers.' 

'  Well,  you  needn't  be  stuffy  about  it.  I  might,  but — 
you  don't  know  my  sister.  I've  been  explaining  and 
exhorting  and  entreating  and  commanding  and  all  the 

176 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

rest  of  it  all  day — lost  my  temper  since  seven  this  morn- 
ing, and  haven't  got  it  back  yet — but  she  wouldn't 
hear  of  any  compromise.  A  woman's  entitled  to  travel 
with  her  husband  if  she  wants  to,  and  William  says  she's 
on  the  same  footing.  You  see,  we've  been  together  all 
our  lives,  more  or  less,  since  my  people  died.  It  isn't  as 
if  she  were  an  ordinary  sister.' 

'All  the  sisters  I've  ever  heard  of  would  have  stayed 
where  they  were  well  off.' 

'She's  as  clever  as  a  man,  confound  her,'  Martyn 
went  on.  'She  broke  up  the  bungalow  over  my  head 
while  I  was  talking  at  her.  'Settled  the  whole  subchiz 
in  three  hours — servants,  horses,  and  all.  I  didn't  get 
my  orders  till  nine.' 

'Jimmy  Hawkins  won't  be  pleased,'  said  Scott.  'A 
famine's  no  place  for  a  woman.' 

'Mrs.  Jim — I  mean  Lady  Jim's  in  camp  with  him. 
At  any  rate,  she  says  she  will  look  after  my  sister. 
William  wired  down  to  her  on  her  own  responsibility, 
asking  if  she  could  come,  and  knocked  the  ground  from 
under  me  by  showing  me  her  answer.' 

Scott  laughed  aloud.  '  If  she  can  do  that  she  can  take 
care  of  herself,  and  Mrs.  Jim  won't  let  her  run  into  any 
mischief.  There  aren't  many  women,  sisters  or  wives, 
who  would  walk  into  a  famine  with  their  eyes  open.  It 
isn't  as  if  she  didn't  know  what  these  things  mean. 
She  was  through  the  Jaloo  cholera  last  year.' 

The  train  stopped  at  Amritsar,  and  Scott  went  back  to 
the  ladies'  compartment,  immediately  behind  their  car- 
riage. William,  a  cloth  riding-cap  on  her  curls,  nodded 
affably. 

'Come  in  and  have  some  tea,'  she  said.  'Best  thing 
in  the  world  for  heat-apoplexy.' 

177 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'Do  I  look  as  if  I  were  going  to  have  heat-apoplexy?' 

'Never  can  tell,'  said  William,  wisely.  'It's  always 
best  to  be  ready.' 

She  had  arranged  her  belongings  with  the  knowledge 
of  an  old  campaigner.  A  felt-covered  water-bottle 
hung  in  the  draught  of  one  of  the  shuttered  windows;  a 
tea-set  of  Russian  china,  packed  in  a  wadded  basket, 
stood  ready  on  the  seat;  and  a  travelling  spirit-lamp 
was  clamped  against  the  woodwork  above  it. 

William  served  them  generously,  in  large  cups,  hot 
tea,  which  saves  the  veins  of  the  neck  from  swelling 
inopportunely  on  a  hot  night.  It  was  characteristic  of 
the  girl  that,  her  plan  of  action  once  settled,  she  asked 
for  no  comments  on  it.  Life  with  men  who  had  a  great 
deal  of  work  to  do,  and  very  little  time  to  do  it  in,  had 
taught  her  the  wisdom  of  effacing  as  well  as  of  fending 
for  herself.  She  did  not  by  word  or  deed  suggest  that 
she  would  be  useful,  comforting,  or  beautiful  in  their 
travels,  but  continued  about  her  business  serenely:  put 
the  cups  back  without  clatter  when  tea  was  ended,  and 
made  cigarettes  for  her  guests. 

'This  time  last  night,'  said  Scott,  'we  didn't  expect — 
er — this  kind  of  thing,  did  we? ' 

'I've  learned  to  expect  anything,'  said  William. 
'You  know,  in  our  service,  we  live  at  the  end  of  the 
telegraph;  but,  of  course,  this  ought  to  be  a  good  thing 
for  us  all,  departmentally — if  we  live.' 

'  It  knocks  us  out  of  the  running  in  our  own  Province,' 
Scott  replied,  with  equal  gravity.  '  I  hoped  to  be  put 
on  the  Luni  Protective  Works  this  cold  weather;  but 
there's  no  saying  how  long  the  famine  may  keep  us.' 

'Hardly  beyond  October,  I  should  think,'  said  Martyn. 
*It  will  be  ended,  one  way  or  the  other,  then.' 

178 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

*And  we've  nearly  a  week  of  this,'  said  William. 
'Shan't  we  be  dusty  when  it's  over?' 

For  a  night  and  a  day  they  knew  their  surroundings; 
and  for  a  night  and  a  day,  skirting  the  edge  of  the  great 
Indian  Desert  on  a  narrow-gauge  line,  they  remembered 
how  in  the  days  of  their  apprenticeship  they  had  come 
by  that  road  from  Bombay.  Then  the  languages  in 
which  the  names  of  the  stations  were  written  changed, 
and  they  launched  south  into  a  foreign  land,  where  the 
very  smells  were  new.  Many  long  and  heavily-laden 
grain  trains  were  in  front  of  them,  and  they  could  feel 
the  hand  of  Jimmy  Hawkins  from  far  off.  They  waited 
in  extemporised  sidings  blocked  by  processions  of  empty 
trucks  returning  to  the  north,  and  were  coupled  on  to 
slow,  crawling  trains,  and  dropped  at  midnight,  Heaven 
knew  where;  but  it  was  furiously  hot;  and  they  walked 
to  and  fro  among  sacks,  and  dogs  howled. 

Then  they  came  to  an  India  more  strange  to  them 
than  to  the  untravelled  Englishman — the  flat,  red  India 
of  palm-tree,  palmyra-palm,  and  rice,  the  India  of  the 
picture-books,  of  'Little  Henry  and  His  Bearer' — all 
dead  and  dry  in  the  baking  heat.  They  had  left  the 
incessant  passenger-trafTic  of  the  north  and  west  far 
and  far  behind  them.  Here  the  people  crawled  to  the 
side  of  the  train,  holding  their  little  ones  in  their  arms; 
and  a  loaded  truck  would  be  left  behind,  men  and  women 
clustering  round  and  above  it  like  ants  by  spilled  honey. 
Once  in  the  twilight  they  saw  on  a  dusty  plain  a  regi- 
ment of  little  brown  men,  each  bearing  a  body  over  his 
shoulder;  and  when  the  train  stopped  to  leave  yet  an- 
other truck,  they  perceived  that  the  burdens  were  not 
corpses,  but  only  foodless  folk  picked  up  beside  their 
dead  oxen  by  a  corps  of  Irregular  troops.     Now  they 

179 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

met  more  white  men,  here  one  and  there  two,  whose 
tents  stood  close  to  the  line,  and  who  came  armed  with 
written  authorities  and  angry  words  to  cut  off  a  truck. 
They  were  too  busy  to  do  more  than  nod  at  Scott  and 
Martyn,  and  stare  curiously  at  William,  who  could  do 
nothing  except  make  tea,  and  watch  how  her  men  staved 
off  the  rush  of  w^ailing,  walking  skeletons,  putting  them 
down  three  at  a  time  in  heaps,  with  their  own  hands  un- 
coupling the  marked  trucks,  or  taking  receipts  from  the 
hollow-eyed,  weary  white  men,  who  spoke  another  argot 
than  theirs. 

They  ran  out  of  ice,  out  of  soda-water,  and  out  of  tea; 
for  they  were  six  days  and  seven  nights  on  the  road,  and 
it  seemed  to  them  like  seven  times  seven  years. 

At  last,  in  a  dry,  hot  dawn,  in  a  land  of  death,  lit  by 
long  red  fires  of  railway  sleepers,  where  they  were  burn- 
ing the  dead,  they  came  to  their  destination,  and  were 
met  by  Jim  Hawkins,  the  Head  of  the  Famine,  unshaven, 
unwashed,  but  cheery,  and  entirely  in  command  of 
affairs. 

Martyn,  he  decreed,  then  and  there,  was  to  live  on 
trains  till  further  orders;  was  to  go  back  with  empty 
trucks,  filling  them  with  starving  people  as  he  found 
them,  and  dropping  them  at  a  famine-camp  on  the  edge 
of  the  Eight  Districts.  He  would  pick  up  supplies  and 
return,  and  his  constables  would  guard  the  loaded  grain- 
cars,  also  picking  up  people,  and  would  drop  them  at  a 
camp  a  hundred  miles  south.  Scott — Hawkins  was  very 
glad  to  see  Scott  again — would,  that  same  hour,  take 
charge  of  a  convoy  of  bullock-carts,  and  would  go  south, 
feeding  as  he  went,  to  yet  another  famine-camp,  far  from 
the  rail,  where  he  would  leave  his  starving — there  would 
be  no  lack  of  starving  on  the  route — and  wait  for  orders 

180 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

by  telegraph.     Generally,  Scott  was  in  all  small  things 
to  do  what  he  thought  best. 

William  bit  her  underlip.  There  was  no  one  in  the 
wide  world  like  her  one  brother,  but  Martyn's  orders 
gave  him  no  discretion.  She  came  out,  masked  with 
dust  from  head  to  foot,  a  horseshoe  wrinkle  on  her  fore- 
head, put  here  by  much  thinking  during  the  past  week, 
but  as  self-possessed  as  ever.  Mrs.  Jim — who  should 
have  been  Lady  Jim,  but  that  no  one  remembered  to 
call  her  aright — took  possession  of  her  with  a  little  gasp. 

'Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you're  here,'  she  almost  sobbed. 
'You  oughtn't  to,  of  course,  but  there — there  isn't  an- 
other woman  in  the  place,  and  we  must  help  each  other, 
you  know;  and  we've  all  the  wretched  people  and  the 
little  babies  they  are  selling.' 

'I've  seen  some,'  said  William. 

'  Isn't  it  ghastly?  I've  bought  twenty;  they're  in  our 
camp;  but  won't  you  have  something  to  eat  first? 
We've  more  than  ten  people  can  do  here;  and  I've  got  a 
horse  for  you.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come!  You're 
a  Punjabi  too,  you  know.' 

'Steady,  Lizzie,'  said  Hawkins,  over  his  shoulder. 
'  We'll  look  after  you,  Miss  Martyn.  Sorry  I  can't  ask 
you  to  breakfast,  Martyn.  You'll  have  to  eat  as  you 
go.  Leave  two  of  your  men  to  help  Scott.  These  poor 
devils  can't  stand  up  to  load  carts.  Saunders'  (this  to 
the  engine-driver,  half  asleep  in  the  cab),  'back  down 
and  get  those  empties  away.  You've  "line  clear"  to 
Anundrapillay;  they'll  give  you  orders  north  of  that. 
Scott,  load  up  your  carts  from  that  B.  P.  P.  truck,  and 
be  off  as  soon  as  you  can.  The  Eurasian  in  the  pink 
shirt  is  your  interpreter  and  guide.  You'll  find  an 
apothecary  of  sorts  tied  to  the  yoke  of  the  second  wag- 

181 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

gon.  He's  been  trying  to  bolt;  you'll  have  to  look  after 
him.  Lizzie,  drive  Miss  Martyn  to  camp,  and  tell  them 
to  send  the  red  horse  down  here  for  me.' 

Scott,  with  Faiz  Ullah  and  two  policemen,  was  already 
busy  on  the  carts,  backing  them  up  to  the  truck  and 
unbolting  the  sideboards  quietly,  while  the  others 
pitched  in  the  bags  of  millet  and  wheat.  Hawkins 
watched  him  for  as  long  as  it  took  to  fill  one  cart. 

'That's  a  good  man,'  he  said.  '  If  all  goes  well  I  shall 
work  him — hard.'  This  was  Jim  Hawkins's  notion  of  the 
highest  compliment  one  human  being  could  pay  another. 

An  hour  later  Scott  was  under  way;  the  apothecary 
threatening  him  with  the  penalties  of  the  law  for  that  he, 
a  member  of  the  Subordinate  Medical  Department,  had 
been  coerced  and  bound  against  his  will  and  all  laws 
governing  the  liberty  of  the  subject;  the  pink-shirted 
Eurasian  begging  leave  to  see  his  mother,  who  happened 
to  be  dying  some  three  miles  away:  'Only  verree,  verree 
short  leave  of  absence,  and  will  presently  return,  sar — '; 
the  two  constables,  armed  with  staves,  bringing  up  the 
rear;  and  Faiz  Ullah,  a  Muhammedan's  contempt  for 
all  Hindoos  and  foreigners  in  every  line  of  his  face, 
explaining  to  the  drivers  that  though  Scott  Sahib  was  a 
man  to  be  feared  on  all  fours,  he,  Faiz  Ullah,  was  Au- 
thority itself. 

The  procession  creaked  past  Hawkins's  camp — three 
stained  tents  under  a  clump  of  dead  trees;  behind  them 
the  famine-shed  where  a  crowd  of  hopeless  ones  tossed 
their  arms  around  the  cooking-kettles. 

*Wish  to  Heaven  William  had  kept  out  of  it,'  said 
Scott  to  himself,  after  a  glance.  'We'll  have  cholera, 
sure  as  a  gun,  when  the  Rains  come.' 

But  William  seemed  to  have  taken  kindly  to  the  oper- 

182 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

ations  of  the  Famine  Code,  which,  when  famine  is 
declared,  supersede  the  workings  of  the  ordinary  law. 
Scott  saw  her,  the  centre  of  a  mob  of  weeping  women,  in 
a  calico  riding-habit  and  a  blue-gray  felt  hat  with  a  gold 
puggaree. 

'I  want  fifty  rupees,  please.  I  forgot  to  ask  Jack 
before  he  went  away.  Can  you  lend  it  me?  It's  for 
condensed  milk  for  the  babies,'  said  she. 

Scott  took  the  money  from  his  belt,  and  handed  it 
over  without  a  word.  'For  goodness  sake  take  care  of 
yourself,'  he  said. 

'  Oh,  I  shall  be  all  right.  We  ought  to  get  the  milk  in 
two  days.  By  the  way,  the  orders  are,  I  was  to  tell  you, 
that  you're  to  take  one  of  Sir  Jim's  horses.  There's  a 
gray  Cabuli  here  that  I  thought  would  be  just  your 
style,  so  I've  said  you'd  take  him.     Was  that  right? ' 

'That's  awfully  good  of  you.  We  can't  either  of  us 
talk  much  about  style,  I'm  afraid.' 

Scott  was  in  a  weather-stained  drill  shooting-kit,  very 
white  at  the  seams  and  a  little  frayed  at  the  wrists. 
William  regarded  him  thoughtfully,  from  his  pith  hel- 
met to  his  greased  ankle-boots.  'You  look  very  nice,  I 
think.  Are  you  sure  you've  everything  you'll  need — 
quinine,  chlorodyne,  and  so  on? ' 

'Think  so,'  said  Scott,  patting  three  or  four  of  his 
shooting-pockets  as  the  horse  was  led  up,  and  he  mounted 
and  rode  alongside  his  convoy. 

'Good-bye,'  he  cried. 

'  Good-bye,  and  good  luck,'  said  William.  *  I'm  awfully 
obliged  for  the  money.'  She  turned  on  a  spurred  heel 
and  disappeared  into  the  tent,  while  the  carts  pushed  on 
past  the  famine-sheds,  past  the  roaring  lines  of  the  thick, 
fat  fires,  down  to  the  baked  Gehenna  of  the  South. 

183 


PART  II 

So  let  us  melt  and  make  no  noise, 

No  tear-floods  nor  sigh-tempests  move; 

'Twere  profanation  of  our  joys 
To  tell  the  laity  our  love. 

'A  Valediction.' 

IT  was  punishing  work,  even  though  he  travelled  by 
night  and  camped  by  day;  but  within  the  limits  of 
his  vision  there  was  no  man  whom  Scott  could  cali 
master.  He  was  as  free  as  Jimmy  Hawkins — freer,  in 
fact,  for  the  Government  held  the  Head  of  the  Famine 
tied  neatly  to  a  telegraph-wire,  and  if  Jimmy  had  ever 
regarded  telegrams  seriously,  the  death-rate  of  that 
famine  would  have  been  much  higher  than  it  was. 

At  the  end  of  a  few  days'  crawling  Scott  learned  some- 
thing of  the  size  of  the  India  which  he  served;  and  it 
astonished  him.  His  carts,  as  you  know,  were  loaded 
with  wheat,  millet,  and  barley,  good  food-grains  need- 
ing only  a  little  grinding.  But  the  people  to  whom  he 
brought  the  life-giving  stufTs  were  rice-eaters.  They 
knew  how  to  hull  rice  in  their  mortars,  but  they  knew 
nothing  of  the  heavy  stone  querns  of  the  North,  and  less 
of  the  material  that  the  white  man  convoyed  so  labori- 
ously. They  clamoured  for  rice — unhusked  paddy, 
such  as  they  were  accustomed  to — and,  when  the> 
found  that  there  was  none,  broke  away  weeping  from 

184 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

the  sides'  of  the  cart.  What  was  the  use  of  these  strange 
hard  grains  that  choked  their  throats?  They  would  die. 
And  then  and  there  were  many  of  them  kept  their  word. 
Others  took  their  allowance,  and  bartered  enough  millet 
to  feed  a  man  through  a  week  for  a  few  handfuls  of 
rotten  rice  saved  by  some  less  unfortunate.  A  few  put 
their  shares  into  the  rice-mortars,  pounded  it,  and  made 
a  paste  with  foul  water,  but  they  were  very  few.  Scott 
understood  dimly  that  many  people  in  the  India  of  the 
South  ate  rice,  as  a  rule,  but  he  had  spent  his  service  in  a 
grain  Province,  had  seldom  seen  rice  in  the  blade  or  the 
ear,  and  least  of  all  would  have  believed  that,  in  time  of 
deadly  need,  men  would  die  at  arm's  length  of  plenty, 
sooner  than  touch  food  they  did  not  know.  In  vain 
the  interpreters  interpreted ;  in  vain  his  two  policemen 
showed  by  vigorous  pantomime  what  should  be  done. 
The  starving  crept  away  to  their  bark  and  weeds,  grubs, 
leaves,  and  clay,  and  left  the  open  sacks  untouched. 
But  sometimes  the  women  laid  their  phantoms  of 
children  at  Scott's  feet,  looking  back  as  they  staggered 
away. 

Faiz  UUah  opined  it  was  the  will  of  God  that  these 
foreigners  should  die,  and  therefore  it  remained  only  to 
give  orders  to  burn  the  dead.  None  the  less  there  was 
no  reason  why  the  Sahib  should  lack  his  comforts,  and 
Faiz  Ullah,  a  campaigner  of  experience,  had  picked  up  a 
few  lean  goats  and  had  added  them  to  the  procession. 
That  they  might  give  milk  for  the  morning  meal,  he  was 
feeding  them  on  the  good  grain  that  these  imbeciles 
rejected.  'Yes,'  said  Faiz  Ullah;  *if  the  Sahib  thought 
fit,  a  little  milk  might  be  given  to  some  of  the  babies ' ; 
but,  as  the  Sahib  well  knew,  babies  were  cheap,  and, 
for  his  own  part,  Faiz  Ullah  held  that  there  was  no 

185 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

Government  order  as  to  babies.  Scott  spoke  forcefully 
to  Faiz  Ullah  and  the  two  policemen,  and  bade  them 
capture  goats  where  they  could  fmd  them.  This  they 
most  joyfully  did,  for  it  was  a  recreation,  and  many 
ownerless  goats  were  driven  in.  Once  fed,  the  poor 
brutes  were  willing  enough  to  follow  the  carts,  and  a 
few  days'  good  food — food  such  as  human  beings  died 
for  the  lack  of — set  them  in  milk  again. 

'But  I  am  no  goatherd,'  said  Faiz  Ullah.  'It  is 
against  my  izzat  [my  honour].' 

'When  we  cross  the  Bias  River  again  we  will  talk  of 
izzat,'  Scott  replied.  'Till  that  day  thou  and  the 
policemen  shall  be  sweepers  to  the  camp,  if  I  give  the 
order.' 

'Thus,  then,  it  is  done,'  grunted  Faiz  Ullah,  'if  the 
Sahib  will  have  it  so ' ;  and  he  showed  how  a  goat  should 
be  milked,  while  Scott  stood  over  him. 

'Now  we  will  feed  them,'  said  Scott;  'thrice  a  day  we 
will  feed  them';  and  he  bowed  his  back  to  the  milking, 
and  took  a  horrible  cramp. 

When  you  have  to  keep  connection  unbroken  between 
a  restless  mother  of  kids  and  a  baby  who  is  at  the  point 
of  death,  you  suffer  in  all  your  system.  But  the  babies 
were  fed.  Morning,  noon  and  evening  Scott  would 
solemnly  lift  them  out  one  by  one  from  their  nest  of 
gunny-bags  under  the  cart-tilts.  There  were  always 
many  who  could  do  no  more  than  breathe,  and  the  milk 
was  dropped  into  their  toothless  mouths  drop  by  drop, 
with  due  pauses  when  they  choked.  Each  morning,  too, 
the  goats  were  fed ;  and  since  they  would  straggle  with- 
out a  leader,  and  since  the  natives  were  hirelings,  Scott 
was  forced  to  give  up  riding,  and  pace  slowly  at  the  head 
of  his  flocks,  accommodating  his  step  to  their  weak- 

186 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

nesses.  All  this  was  sufficiently  absurd,  and  he  felt  the 
absurdity  keenly;  but  at  least  he  was  saving  life,  and 
when  the  women  saw  that  their  children  did  not  die, 
they  made  shift  to  eat  a  little  of  the  strange  foods,  and 
crawled  after  the  carts,  blessing  the  master  of  the  goats. 

'Give  the  women  something  to  live  for,'  said  Scott 
to  himself,  as  he  sneezed  in  the  dust  of  a  hundred  little 
feet,  *and  they'll  hang  on  somehow.  But  this  beats 
William's  condensed-milk  trick  all  to  pieces.  I  shall 
never  live  it  down,  though.' 

He  reached  his  destination  very  slowly,  found  that  a 
rice-ship  had  come  in  from  Burmah,  and  that  stores  of 
paddy  were  available;  found  also  an  overworked  Eng- 
lishman in  charge  of  the  shed,  and,  loading  the  carts, 
set  back  to  cover  the  ground  he  had  already  passed. 
He  left  some  of  the  children  and  half  his  goats  at  the 
famine-shed.  For  this  he  was  not  thanked  by  the 
Englishman,  who  had  already  more  stray  babies  than  he 
knew  what  to  do  with.  Scott's  back  was  suppled  to 
stooping  now,  and  he  went  on  with  his  wayside  minis- 
trations in  addition  to  distributing  the  paddy.  More 
babies  and  more  goats  were  added  unto  him;  but  now 
some  of  the  babies  wore  rags,  and  beads  round  their 
wrists  or  necks.  'That,'  said  the  interpreter,  as  though 
Scott  did  not  know,  'signifies  that  their  mothers  hope 
in  eventual  contingency  to  resume  them  offeecially.' 

'The  sooner  the  better,'  said  Scott;  but  at  the  same 
time  he  marked,  with  the  pride  of  ownership,  how  this 
or  that  little  Ramasawmy  was  putting  on  flesh  like  a 
bantam.  As  the  paddy-carts  were  emptied  he  headed 
for  Hawkins's  camp  by  the  railway,  timing  his  arrival 
to  fit  in  with  the  dinner-hour,  for  it  was  long  since  he 
had  eaten  at  a  cloth.     He  had  no  desire  to  make  any 

187 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

dramatic  entry,  but  an  accident  of  the  sunset  ordered  it 
that,  when  he  had  taken  off  his  helmet  to  get  the  even- 
ing breeze,  the  low  light  should  fall  across  his  forehead, 
and  he  could  not  see  what  was  before  him;  while  one 
waiting  at  the  tent  door  beheld,  with  new  eyes,  a  young 
man,  beautiful  as  Paris,  a  god  in  a  halo  of  golden  dust, 
walking  slowly  at  the  head  of  his  flocks,  while  at 
his  knee  ran  small  naked  Cupids.  But  she  laughed — 
William  in  a  slate-coloured  blouse,  laughed  consumedly 
till  Scott,  putting  the  best  face  he  could  upon  the  matter, 
halted  his  armies  and  bade  her  admire  the  kindergarten. 
It  was  an  unseemly  sight,  but  the  proprieties  had  been 
left  ages  ago,  with  the  tea-party  at  Amritsar  Station, 
fifteen  hundred  miles  to  the  northward. 

*They  are  coming  on  nicely,'  said  William.  'We've 
only  five-and-twenty  here  now.  The  women  are  be- 
ginning to  take  them  away  again.' 

'Are  you  in  charge  of  the  babies,  then?' 

'Yes— Mrs.  Jim  and  I.  We  didn't  think  of  goats, 
though.     We've  been  trying  condensed  milk  and  water.' 

'Any  losses?' 

'More  than  I  care  to  think  of,'  said  William,  with  a 
shudder.     '  And  you? ' 

Scott  said  nothing.  There  had  been  many  little 
burials  along  his  route — many  mothers  who  had  wept 
when  they  did  not  find  again  the  children  they  had 
trusted  to  the  care  of  the  Government. 

Then  Hawkins  came  out  carrying  a  razor,  at  which 
Scott  looked  hungrily,  for  he  had  a  beard  that  he  did 
not  love.  And  when  they  sat  down  to  dinner  in  the 
tent  he  told  his  tale  in  few  words,  as  it  might  have  been 
an  official  report.  Mrs.  Jim  snuffied  from  time  to  time, 
and  Jim  bowed  his  head  judicially;  but  William's  gray 

188 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

eyes  were  on  the  clean-shaven  face,  and  it  was  to  her 
that  Scott  seemed  to  speak. 

'Good  for  the  Pauper  Province!'  said  William,  her 
chin  in  her  hand,  as  she  leaned  forward  among  the  wine- 
glasses. Her  cheeks  had  fallen  in,  and  the  scar  on  her 
forehead  was  more  prominent  than  ever,  but  the  well- 
turned  neck  rose  roundly  as  a  column  from  the  ruffle  of 
the  blouse  which  was  the  accepted  evening-dress  in  camp. 

'It  was  awfully  absurd  at  times,'  said  Scott.  'You 
see  I  didn't  know  much  about  milking  or  babies.  They'll 
chaff  my  head  off,  if  the  tale  goes  north.' 

'Let  'em,'  said  William,  haughtily.  'We've  all  done 
coolie-work  since  we  came.  I  know  Jack  has.'  This 
was  to  Hawkins's  address,  and  the  big  man  smiled 
blandly. 

'Your  brother's  a  highly  efficient  officer,  William,' 
said  he,  'and  I've  done  him  the  honour  of  treating  him 
as  he  deserves.  Remember,  I  write  the  confidential 
reports.' 

'Then  you  must  say  that  William's  worth  her  weight 
in  gold,'  said  Mrs.  Jim.  '  I  don't  know  what  we  should 
have  done  without  her.  She  has  been  everything  to  us.' 
She  dropped  her  hand  upon  William's,  which  was  rough 
with  much  handling  of  reins,  and  William  patted  it 
softly.  Jim  beamed  on  the  company.  Things  were 
going  well  with  his  world.  Three  of  his  more  grossly 
incompetent  men  had  died,  and  their  places  had  been 
filled  by  their  betters.  Every  day  brought  the  rains 
nearer.  They  had  put  out  the  famine  in  five  of  the 
Eight  Districts,  and,  after  all,  the  death-rate  had  not 
been  too  heavy — things  considered.  He  looked  Scott 
over  carefully,  as  an  ogre  looks  over  a  man,  and  re- 
joiced in  his  thews  and  iron-hard  condition. 

189 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'He's  just  the  least  bit  in  the  world  tucked  up,'  said 
Jim  to  himself,  'but  he  can  do  two  men's  work  yet.' 
Then  he  was  aware  that  Mrs.  Jim  was  telegraphing  to 
him,  and  according  to  the  domestic  code  the  message 
ran: 'A  clear  case.     Look  at  them!' 

He  looked  and  listened.  All  that  William  was  saying 
was :  '  What  can  you  expect  of  a  country  where  they  call 
a  bhistee  [a  water-carrier]  a  tunni-cutch? '  and  all  that 
Scott  answered  was: '  I  shall  be  precious  glad  to  get  back 
to  the  Club.  Save  me  a  dance  at  the  Christmas  ball, 
won't  you?' 

'It's  a  far  cry  from  here  to  the  Lawrence  Hall,'  said 
Jim.  'Better  turn  in  early,  Scott.  It's  paddy-carts 
to-morrow;  you'll  begin  loading  at  five.' 

*  Aren't  you  going  to  give  Mr.  Scott  one  day's  rest?' 

*  Wish  I  could,  Lizzie.  'Fraid  I  can't.  As  long  as  he 
can  stand  up  we  must  use  him.' 

'Well,  I've  had  one  Europe  evening,  at  least.  .  .  . 
By  Jove,  I'd  nearly  forgotten!  What  do  I  do  about 
those  babies  of  mine?' 

'Leave  them  here,'  said  William — 'we  are  in  charge  of 
that— and  as  many  goats  as  you  can  spare.  I  must 
learn  how  to  milk  now.' 

'If  you  care  to  get  up  early  enough  to-morrow  I'll 
show  you.  I  have  to  milk,  you  see;  and,  by  the  way, 
half  of  'em  have  beads  and  things  round  their  necks. 
You  must  be  careful  not  to  take  'em  off,  in  case  the 
mothers  turn  up.' 

'You  forget  I've  had  some  experience  here.' 

'I  hope  to  goodness  you  won't  overdo.'  Scott's 
voice  was  unguarded. 

'I'll  take  care  of  her,'  said  Mrs.  Jim,  telegraphing 
hundred-word  messages  as  she  carried  William  off,  while 

190 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

Jim  gave  Scott  his  orders  for  the  coming  campaign.     It 
was  very  late — nearly  nine  o'clock. 

'Jim,  you're  a  brute,'  said  his  wife,  that  night;  and 
the  Head  of  the  Famine  chuckled. 

'Not  a  bit  of  it,  dear.  I  remember  doing  llie  first 
Jandiala  Settlement  for  the  sake  of  a  girl  in  a  crinoline; 
and  she  was  slender,  Lizzie.  I've  never  done  as  good  a 
piece  of  work  since.     He'll  work  like  a  demon.' 

'But  you  might  have  given  him  one  day.' 

'And  let  things  come  to  a  head  now?  No,  dear;  it's 
their  happiest  time.' 

*I  don't  believe  either  of  the  dears  know  what's  the 
matter  with  them.     Isn't  it  beautiful?     Isn't  it  lovely?' 

'Getting  up  at  three  to  learn  to  milk,  bless  her  heart! 
Ye  gods,  why  must  we  grow  old  and  fat?' 

'She's  a  darling.  She  has  done  more  work  under 
me — ' 

'Under  you!  The  day  after  she  came  she  was  in 
charge  and  you  were  her  subordinate,  and  you've  stayed 
there  ever  since.  She  manages  you  almost  as  well  as 
you  manage  me.' 

'She  doesn't,  and  that's  why  I  love  her.  She's  as 
direct  as  a  man — as  her  brother.' 

*Her  brother's  weaker  than  she  is.  He's  always  com- 
ing to  me  for  orders;  but  he's  honest,  and  a  glutton  for 
work.  I  confess  I'm  rather  fond  of  William,  and  if  I 
had  a  daughter — ' 

The  talk  ended  there.  Far  away  in  the  Derajat  was 
a  child's  grave  more  than  twenty  years  old,  and  neither 
Jim  nor  his  wife  spoke  of  it  any  more. 

'All  the  same,  you're  responsible,'  Jim  added,  after  a 
moment's  silence. 

*  Bless  'em!'  said  Mrs.  Jim  sleepily. 

191 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

Before  the  stars  paled,  Scott,  who  slept  in  an  empty 
cart,  waked  and  went  about  his  work  in  silence;  it  seemed 
at  that  hour  unkind  to  rouse  Faiz  Ullah  and  the  inter- 
preter. His  head  being  close  to  the  ground,  he  did  not 
hear  William  till  she  stood  over  him  in  the  dingy  old 
riding-habit,  her  eyes  still  heavy  with  sleep,  a  cup  of  tea 
and  a  piece  of  toast  in  her  hands.  There  was  a  baby  on 
the  ground,  squirming  on  a  piece  of  blanket,  and  a  six- 
year-old  child  peered  over  Scott's  shoulder. 

'Hai,  you  little  rip,'  said  Scott,  'how  the  deuce  do  you 
expect  to  get  your  rations  if  you  aren't  quiet?' 

A  cool  white  hand  steadied  the  brat,  who  forthwith 
choked  as  the  milk  gurgled  into  his  mouth. 

'Mornin','  said  the  milker.  'You've  no  notion  how 
these  little  fellows  can  wriggle.' 

'Oh  yes,  I  have.'  She  whispered,  because  the  world 
was  asleep.  'Only  I  feed  them  with  a  spoon  or  a  rag. 
Yours  are  fatter  than  mine.  .  .  .  And  you've  been 
doing  this  day  after  day,  twice  a  day? '  The  voice  was 
almost  lost. 

'Yes;  it  was  absurd.  Now  you  try,'  he  said,  giving 
place  to  the  girl.     '  Look  out !    A  goat's  not  a  cow.' 

The  goat  protested  against  the  amateur,  and  there 
was  a  scuffle,  in  which  Scott  snatched  up  the  baby. 
Then  it  was  all  to  do  over  again,  and  William  laughed 
softly  and  merrily.  She  managed,  however,  to  feed  two 
babies,  and  a  third. 

'Don't  the  little  beggars  take  it  well!'  said  Scott.  'I 
trained  'em.' 

They  were  very  busy  and  interested,  when,  lo !  it  was 
broad  daylight,  and  before  they  knew,  the  camp  was 
awake,  and  they  kneeled  among  the  goats,  surprised  by 
the  day,  both  flushed  to  the  temples.     Yet  all  the  round 

192 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

world  rolling  up  out  of  the  darkness  might  have  heard 
and  seen  all  that  had  passed  between  them. 

'Oh,'  said  William,  unsteadily,  snatching  up  the  tea 
and  toast.  'I  had  this  made  for  you.  It's  stone-cold 
now.  I  thought  you  mightn't  have  anything  ready  so 
early.     Better  not  drink  it.     It's — it's  stone-cold.' 

'That's  awfully  kind  of  you.  It's  just  right.  It's 
awfully  good  of  you,  really.  I'll  leave  my  kids  and 
goats  with  you  and  Mrs.  Jim;  and,  of  course,  any  one  in 
camp  can  show  you  about  the  rnilking.' 

'Of  course,'  said  William;  and  she  grew  pinker  and 
pinker  and  statelier  and  more  stately,  as  she  strode  back 
to  her  tent,  fanning  herself  vigorously  with  the  saucer. 

There  were  shrill  lamentations  through  the  camp 
when  the  elder  children  saw  their  nurse  move  off  without 
them.  Faiz  UUah  unbent  so  far  as  to  jest  with  the 
policemen,  and  Scott  turned  purple  with  shame  because 
Hawkins,  already  in  the  saddle,  roared. 

A  child  escaped  from  the  care  of  Mrs.  Jim,  and,  run- 
ning like  a  rabbit,  clung  to  Scott's  boot,  William  pursu- 
ing  with  long,  easy  strides. 

'I  will  not  go — I  will  not  go!'  shrieked  the  child,  twin- 
ing his  feet  round  Scott's  ankle.  'They  will  kill  me 
here.     I  do  not  know  these  people.' 

'I  say,'  said  Scott,  in  broken  Tamil,  *I  say,  she  will  do 
you  no  harm.     Go  with  her  and  be  well  fed.' 

'Come!'  said  William,  panting,  with  a  wrathful 
glance  at  Scott,  who  stood  helpless  and,  as  it  were,  ham- 
strung. 

'Go  back,'  said  Scott  quickly  to  William.  'I'll  send 
the  little  chap  over  in  a  minute.' 

The  tone  of  authority  had  its  effect,  but  in  a  way  Scott 
did  not  exactly  intend.    The  boy  loosened  his  grasp, 

193 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

and  said  with  gravity,  '  I  did  not  know  the  woman  was 
thine.  I  will  go.'  Then  he  cried  to  his  companions,  a 
mob  of  three-,  four-,  and  five-year-olds  waiting  on  the 
success  of  his  venture  ere  they  stampeded:  'Go  back 
and  eat.  It  is  our  man's  woman.  She  will  obey  his 
orders.' 

Jim  collapsed  where  he  sat;  Faiz  Ullah  and  the  two 
policemen  grinned;  and  Scott's  orders  to  the  cartmen 
flew  like  hail. 

*That  is  the  custom  of  the  Sahibs  when  truth  is  told 
in  their  presence,'  said  Faiz  Ullah.  'The  time  comes 
that  I  must  seek  new  service.  Young  wives,  especially 
such  as  speak  our  language  and  have  knowledge  of  the 
ways  of  the  Police,  make  great  trouble  for  honest  butlers 
in  the  matter  of  weekly  accounts. 

What  William  thought  of  it  all  she  did  not  say,  but 
when  her  brother,  ten  days  later,  came  to  camp  for 
orders,  and  heard  of  Scott's  performances,  he  said, 
laughing:  'Well,  that  settles  it.  He'll  be  Bakri  Scott  to 
the  end  of  his  days'  ('Bakri,'  in  the  northern  vernacular, 
means  a  goat).  'What  a  lark!  I'd  have  given  a 
month's  pay  to  have  seen  him  nursing  famine  babies.  I 
fed  some  with  conjee  [rice-water],  but  that  was  all  right.' 

'It's  perfectly  disgusting,'  said  his  sister,  with  blazing 
eyes.  'A  man  does  something  like — like  that — and  all 
you  other  men  think  of  is  to  give  him  an  absurd  nick- 
name, and  then  you  laugh  and  think  it's  funny.' 

'Ah,'  said  Mrs.  Jim,  sympathetically. 

'Well,  you  can't  talk,  William.  You  christened  little 
Miss  Demby  the  Button-quail  last  cold  weather;  you 
know  you  did.     India's  the  land  of  nicknames.' 

'That's  different,'  William  replied.  'She  was  only  a 
girl,  and  she  hadn't  done  anything  except  walk  like  a 

194 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

quail,  and  she  does.  But  it  isn't  fair  to  make  fun  of  a 
man.' 

'Scott  won't  care,'  said  Martyn.  'You  can't  get  a 
rise  out  of  old  Scotty.  I've  been  trying  for  eight  years, 
and  you've  only  known  him  for  three.  How  does  he 
look?' 

'He  looks  very  well,'  said  William,  and  went  away 
with  a  flushed  cheek.  'Bakri  Scott,  indeed!'  Then 
she  laughed  to  herself,  for  she  knew  the  country  of  her 
service.  'But  it  will  be  Bakri  all  the  same';  and  she 
repeated  it  under  her  breath  several  times  slowly,  whis- 
pering it  into  favour. 

When  he  returned  to  his  duties  on  the  railway,  Mar- 
tyn spread  the  name  far  and  wide  among  his  associates, 
so  that  Scott  met  it  as  he  led  his  paddy-carts  to  war. 
The  natives  believed  it  to  be  some  English  title  of  hon- 
our, and  the  cart-drivers  used  it  in  all  simplicity  till 
Faiz  Ullah,  who  did  not  approve  of  foreign  japes,  broke 
their  heads.  There  was  very  little  time  for  milking 
now,  except  at  the  big  camps,  where  Jim  had  extended 
Scott's  idea,  and  was  feeding  large  flocks  on  the  useless 
northern  grains.  Enough  paddy  had  come  into  the 
Eight  Districts  to  hold  the  people  safe,  if  it  were  only 
distributed  quickly;  and  for  that  purpose  no  one  was 
better  than  the  big  Canal  officer,  who  never  lost  his 
temper,  never  gave  an  unnecessary  order,  and  never 
questioned  an  order  given,  Scott  pressed  on,  saving  his 
cattle,  washing  their  galled  necks  daily,  so  that  no  time 
should  be  lost  on  the  road;  reported  himself  with  his 
rice  at  the  minor  famine-sheds,  unloaded,  and  went 
back  light  by  forced  night-march  to  the  next  distribut- 
ing centre,  to  find  Hawkins's  unvarying  telegram:  'Do 
it  again.'     And  he  did  it  again  and  again,  and  yet  again, 

195 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

while  Jim  Hawkins,  fifty  miles  away,  marked  off  on  a 
big  map  the  tracks  of  his  wheels  gridironing  the  stricken 
lands.  Others  did  well — Hawkins  reported  at  the  end 
that  they  all  did  well — but  Scott  was  the  most  excellent, 
for  he  kept  good  coined  rupees  by  him,  and  paid  for  his 
own  cart-repairs  on  the  spot,  and  ran  to  meet  all  sorts 
of  unconsidered  extras,  trusting  to  be  recouped  later. 
Theoretically,  the  Government  should  have  paid  for 
every  shoe  and  linchpin,  for  every  hand  employed  in 
the  loading;  but  Government  vouchers  cash  themselves 
slowly,  and  intelligent  and  efficient  clerks  write  at  great 
length,  contesting  unauthorised  expenditures  of  eight 
annas.  The  man  who  wishes  to  make  his  work  a  suc- 
cess must  draw  on  his  own  bank-account  of  money  or 
other  things  as  he  goes. 

'I  told  you  he'd  work,'  said  Jimmy  to  his  wife  at  the 
end  of  six  weeks.  '  He's  been  in  sole  charge  of  a  couple  of 
thousand  men  up  north  on  the  Mosuhl  Canal  for  a  year, 
and  he  gives  one  less  trouble  than  young  Martyn  with 
his  ten  constables;  and  I'm  morally  certain — only  Gov- 
ernment doesn't  recognise  moral  obligations — that 
he's  spent  about  half  his  pay  to  grease  his  wheels. 
Look  at  this,  Lizzie,  for  one  week's  work!  Forty  miles 
in  two  days  with  twelve  carts;  two  days'  halt  building 
a  famine-shed  for  young  Rogers  (Rogers  ought  to  have 
built  it  himself,  the  idiot!).  Then  forty  miles  back 
again,  loading  six  carts  on  the  way,  and  distributiiig  all 
Sunday.  Then  in  the  evening  he  pitches  in  a  twenty- 
page  demi-official  to  me,  saying  that  the  people  where 
he  is  might  be  "advantageously  employed  on  relief- 
work,"  and  suggesting  that  he  put  'em  to  work  on  some 
broken-down  old  reservoir  he's  discovered,  so  as  to  have 
a  good  water-supply  w^hen  the  Rains  come.     He  thinks 

196 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

he  can  caulk  the  dam  in  a  fortnight.  Look  at  his  mar- 
ginal sketches — aren't  they  clear  and  good?  I  knew 
he  was  pukka,  but  I  didn't  know  he  was  as  pukka  as 
this!' 

'I  must  show  these  to  William,'  said  Mrs.  Jim.  'The 
child's  wearing  herself  out  among  the  babies.' 

'Not  more  than  you  are,  dear.  Well,  another  two 
months  ought  to  see  us  out  of  the  wood.  I'm  sorry  it's 
not  in  my  power  to  recommend  you  for  a  V.  C 

William  sat  late  in  her  tent  that  night,  reading  through 
page  after  page  of  the  square  handwriting,  patting  the 
sketches  of  proposed  repairs  to  the  reservoir,  and  wrin- 
kling her  eyebrows  over  the  columns  of  figures  of  esti- 
mated water-supply. 

'And  he  finds  time  to  do  all  this,'  she  cried  to  herself, 
'and  .  .  .  well,  I  also  was  present.  I've  saved 
one  or  two  babies.' 

She  dreamed  for  the  twentieth  time  of  the  god  in  the 
golden  dust,  and  woke  refreshed  to  feed  loathsome  black 
children,  scores  of  them,  wastrels  picked  up  by  the  way- 
side, their  bones  almost  breaking  their  skin,  terrible  and 
covered  with  sores. 

Scott  was  not  allowed  to  leave  his  cart-work,  but  his 
letter  was  duly  forwarded  to  the  Government,  and  he 
had  the  consolation,  not  rare  in  India,  of  knowing  that 
another  man  was  reaping  where  he  had  sown.  That 
also  was  discipline  profitable  to  the  soul. 

'He's  much  too  good  to  waste  on  canals,'  said  Jimmy. 
'Any  one  can  oversee  coolies.  You  needn't  be  angry, 
William:  he  can — but  I  need  my  pearl  among  bullock- 
drivers,  and  I've  transferred  him  to  the  Khanda  district, 
where  he'll  have  it  all  to  do  over  again.  He  should  be 
marching  now.' 

197 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'  He's  not  a  coolie,'  said  William,  furiously.  *  He  ought 
to  be  doing  his  regulation  work.' 

'He's  the  best  man  in  his  service,  and  that's  saying  a 
good  deal;  but  if  you  must  use  razors  to  cut  grindstones, 
why,  I  prefer  the  best  cutlery.' 

'Isn't  it  almost  time  we  saw  him  again?'  said  Mrs. 
Jim.  'I'm  sure  the  poor  boy  hasn't  had  a  respectable 
meal  for  a  month.  He  probably  sits  on  a  cart  and  eats 
sardines  with  his  fingers.' 

'  All  in  good  time,  dear.  Duty  before  decency — wasn't 
it  Mr.  Chucks  said  that?' 

'No;  it  was  Midshipman  Easy,'  William  laughed.  '  I 
sometimes  wonder  how  it  will  feel  to  dance  or  listen  to  a 
band  again,  or  sit  under  a  roof.  I  can't  believe  that  I 
ever  wore  a  ball-frock  in  my  life.' 

'One  minute,'  said  Mrs.  Jim,  who  was  thinking.  'If 
he  goes  to  Khanda,  he  passes  within  five  miles  of  us. 
Of  course  he'll  ride  in.' 

'Oh  no,  he  won't,'  said  William. 

'How  do  you  know,  dear?' 

'  It'll  take  him  off  his  work.     He  won't  have  time.' 

'He'll  make  it,'  said  Mrs.  Jim,  with  a  twinkle. 

'It  depends  on  his  own  judgment.  There's  abso- 
lutely no  reason  why  he  shouldn't,  if  he  thinks  fit,'  said 
Jim. 

'He  won't  see  fit,'  William  replied,  without  sorrow  or 
emotion.     '  It  wouldn't  be  him  if  he  did.' 

'One  certainly  gets  to  know  people  rather  well  in 
times  like  these,'  said  Jim,  drily;  but  William's  face  was 
serene  as  ever,  and,  as  she  prophesied,  Scott  did  not 
appear. 

The  Rains  fell  at  last,  late,  but  heavily;  and  the  dry, 
gashed  earth  was  red  mud,  and  servants  killed  snakes  in 

198 


WILLIAiVI  THE  CONQUEROR 

the  camp,  where  every  one  was  weather-bound  for  a 
fortnight — all  except  Hawkins,  who  took  horse  and 
splashed  about  in  the  wet,  rejoicing.  Now  the  Govern- 
ment decreed  that  seed-grain  should  be  distributed  to 
the  people  as  well  as  advances  of  money  for  the  purchase 
of  new  oxen ;  and  the  white  men  were  doubly  worked  for 
this  new  duty,  while  William  skipped  from  brick  to  brick 
laid  down  on  the  trampled  mud,  and  dosed  her  charges 
with  warming  medicines  that  made  them  rub  their  little 
round  stomachs;  and  the  milch-goats  throve  on  the  rank 
grass.  There  was  never  a  word  from  Scott  in  the  Khanda 
district,  away  to  the  south-east,  except  the  regular 
telegraphic  report  to  Hawkins.  The  rude  country  roads 
had  disappeared;  his  drivers  were  half  mutinous;  one  of 
Martyn's  loaned  policemen  had  died  of  cholera;  and 
Scott  was  taking  thirty  grains  of  quinine  a  day  to 
fight  the  fever  that  comes  if  one  works  hard  in  heavy 
rain;  but  those  were  things  he  did  not  consider  necessary 
to  report.  He  was,  as  usual,  working  from  a  base  of 
supplies  on  a  railway  line,  to  cover  a  circle  of  fifteen 
miles  radius,  and  since  full  loads  were  impossible,  he 
took  quarter-loads,  and  toiled  four  times  as  hard  by 
consequence;  for  he  did  not  choose  to  risk  an  epidemic 
which  might  have  grown  uncontrollable  by  assembling 
villagers  in  thousands  at  the  relief-sheds.  It  was  cheaper 
to  take  Government  bullocks,  work  them  to  death, 
and  leave  them  to  the  crows  in  the  wayside  sloughs. 

That  was  the  time  when  eight  years  of  clean  living 
and  hard  condition  told,  though  a  man's  head  were  ring- 
ing like  a  bell  from  the  cinchona,  and  the  earth  swayed 
under  his  feet  when  he  stood  and  under  his  bed  when  he 
slept.  If  Hawkins  had  seen  fit  to  make  him  a  bullock- 
driver,  that,  he  thought,  was  entirely  Hawkins's  own 

199 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

affair.  There  were  men  in  the  North  who  would  know 
what  he  had  done;  men  of  thirty  years'  service  in  his 
own  department  who  would  say  that  it  was  'not  half 
bad';  and  above,  immeasurably  above  all  men  of  all 
grades,  there  was  William  in  the  thick  of  the  fight,  who 
would  approve  because  she  understood.  He  had  so 
trained  his  mind  that  it  would  holdfast  to  the  mechanical 
routine  of  the  day,  though  his  own  voice  sounded  strange 
in  his  own  ears,  and  his  hands,  when  he  wrote,  grew 
large  as  pillows  or  small  as  peas  at  the  end  of  his  wrists. 
That  steadfastness  bore  his  body  to  the  telegraph-office 
at  the  railway-station,  and  dictated  a  telegram  to  Hawk- 
ins, saying  that  the  Khanda  district  was,  in  his  judg- 
ment, now  safe,  and  he  'waited  further  orders.' 

The  Madrassee  telegraph-clerk  did  not  approve  of  a 
large,  gaunt  man  falling  over  him  in  a  dead  faint,  not  so 
much  because  of  the  weight,  as  because  of  the  names 
and  blows  that  Faiz  Ullah  dealt  him  when  he  found  the 
body  rolled  under  a  bench.  Then  Faiz  Ullah  took  blank- 
ets and  quilts  and  coverlets  where  he  found  them,  and 
lay  down  under  them  at  his  master's  side,  and  bound 
his  arms  with  a  tent-rope,  and  filled  him  with  a  horrible 
stew  of  herbs,  and  set  the  policeman  to  fight  him  when 
he  wished  to  escape  from  the  intolerable  heat  of  his 
coverings,  and  shut  the  door  of  the  telegraph-office  to 
keep  out  the  curious  for  two  nights  and  one  day;  and 
when  a  light  engine  came  down  the  line,  and  Hawkins 
kicked  in  the  door,  Scott  hailed  him  weakly,  but  in  a 
natural  voice,  and  Faiz  Ullah  stood  back  and  took  all 
the  credit. 

'For  two  nights.  Heaven-born,  he  was  pagal,'  said 
Faiz  Ullah.  'Look  at  my  nose,  and  consider  the  eye  of 
the  policeman.     He  beat  us  with  his  bound  hands;  but 

200 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

we  sat  upon  him,  Heaven-born,  and  though  his  words 
were  tez,  we  sweated  him.  Heaven-born,  never  has 
been  such  a  sweat!  He  is  weaker  now  than  a  child;  but 
the  fever  has  gone  out  of  him,  by  the  grace  of  God. 
There  remains  only  my  nose  and  the  eye  of  the  consta- 
beel.  Sahib,  shall  I  ask  for  my  dismissal  because  my 
Sahib  has  beaten  me?'  And  Faiz  Ullah  laid  his  long 
thin  hand  carefully  on  Scott's  chest  to  be  sure  that  the 
fever  was  all  gone,  ere  he  went  out  to  open  tinned  soups 
and  discourage  such  as  laughed  at  his  swelled  nose. 

'  The  district's  all  right,'  Scott  whispered.  '  It  doesn't 
make  any  difference.  You  got  my  wire?  I  shall  be  fit 
in  a  week.  'Can't  understand  how  it  happened.  I  shall 
be  fit  in  a  few  days.' 

'You're  coming  into  camp  with  us,'  said  Hawkins. 

'But  look  here — but — ' 

'It's  all  over  except  the  shouting.  We  shan't  need 
you  Punjabis  any  more.  On  my  honour,  we  shan't. 
Martyn  goes  back  in  a  few  weeks;  Arbuthnot's  re- 
turned already;  Ellis  and  Clay  are  putting  the  last 
touches  to  a  new  feeder-line  the  Government's  built  as 
relief-work.  Morten's  dead — he  was  a  Bengal  man, 
though;  you  wouldn't  know  him.  'Pon  my  word,  you 
and  Will — Miss  Martyn — seem  to  have  come  through 
it  as  well  as  anybody.' 

'  Oh,  how  is  she? '  The  voice  went  up  and  down  as  he 
spoke. 

'  She  was  in  great  form  when  I  left  her.  The  Roman 
Catholic  Missions  are  adopting  the  unclaimed  babies  to 
turn  them  into  little  priests;  the  Basil  Mission  is  taking 
some,  and  the  mothers  are  taking  the  rest.  You  should 
hear  the  little  beggars  howl  when  they're  sent  away 
from  William.     She's  pulled  down  a  bit,  but  so  are  we 

201 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

all.      Now,  when  do  you   suppose  you'll   be  able  to 
move? ' 

'I  can't  come  into  camp  in  this  state.  I  won't,'  he 
replied  pettishly. 

'  Well,  you  are  rather  a  sight,  but  from  what  I  gathered 
there  it  seemed  to  me  they'd  be  glad  to  see  you  under 
any  conditions.  I'll  look  over  your  work  here,  if  you 
like,  for  a  couple  of  days,  and  you  can  pull  yourself 
together  while  Faiz  Ullah  feeds  you  up.' 

Scott  could  walk  dizzily  by  the  time  Hawkins's  in- 
spection was  ended,  and  he  flushed  all  over  when  Jim 
said  of  his  work  in  the  district  that  it  was  'not  half  bad,' 
and  volunteered,  further,  that  he  had  considered  Scott 
his  right-hand  man  through  the  famine,  and  would  feel 
it  his  duty  to  say  as  much  officially. 

So  they  came  back  by  rail  to  the  old  camp ;  but  there 
were  no  crowds  near  it,  the  long  fires  in  the  trenches 
were  dead  and  black,  and  the  famine-sheds  stood  almost 
empty. 

'You  see!'  said  Jim.  'There  isn't  much  more  for  us 
to  do.  Better  ride  up  and  see  the  wife.  They've  pitched 
a  tent  for  you.     Dinner's  at  seven.     I'll  see  you  then.' 

Riding  at  a  foot-pace,  Faiz  Ullah  by  his  stirrup,  Scott 
came  to  William  in  the  brown-calico  riding-habit,  sit- 
ting at  the  dining-tent  door,  her  hands  in  her  lap,  white 
as  ashes,  thin  and  worn,  with  no  lustre  in  her  hair. 
There  did  not  seem  to  be  any  Mrs.  Jim  on  the  horizon, 
and  all  that  William  could  say  was:  'My  word,  how 
pulled  down  you  look ! ' 

'I've  had  a  touch  of  fever.  You  don't  look  very  well 
yourself.' 

'Oh,  I'm  fit  enough.  We've  stamped  it  out.  I  sup- 
pose you  know? ' 

2Q2 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

Scott  nodded.  'We  shall  all  be  returned  in  a  few 
weeks.     Hawkins  told  me.' 

'Before  Christmas,  Mrs.  Jim  says.  Shan't  you  be 
glad  to  go  back?  I  can  smell  the  wood-smoke  already'; 
William  sniffed.  '  We  shall  be  in  time  for  all  the  Christ- 
mas doings.  I  don't  suppose  even  the  Punjab  Govern- 
ment would  be  base  enough  to  transfer  Jack  till  the  new 
year?' 

'It  seems  hundreds  of  years  ago — the  Punjab  and  all 
that — doesn't  it?     Are  you  glad  you  came? ' 

'Now  it's  all  over,  yes.  It  has  been  ghastly  here. 
You  know  we  had  to  sit  still  and  do  nothing,  and  Sir  Jim 
was  away  so  much.' 

'  Do  nothing !     How  did  you  get  on  with  the  milking?' 

*I  managed  it  somehow — after  you  taught  me.' 

Then  the  talk  stopped  with  an  almost  audible  jar. 
Still  no  Mrs.  Jim. 

'That  reminds  me  I  owe  you  fifty  rupees  for  the  con- 
densed milk.  I  thought  perhaps  you'd  be  coming  here 
when  you  were  transferred  to  the  Khanda  district,  and 
I  could  pay  you  then;  but  you  didn't.' 

'I  passed  within  five  miles  of  the  camp.  It  was  in 
the  middle  of  a  march,  you  see,  and  the  carts  were  break- 
ing down  every  few  minutes,  and  I  couldn't  get  'em 
over  the  ground  till  ten  o'clock  that  night.  But  I 
wanted  to  come  awfully.     You  knew  I  did,  didn't  you?* 

'I — believe — I — did,'  said  William,  facing  him  with 
level  eyes.     She  was  no  longer  white. 

*  Did  you  understand? ' 

'Why  you  didn't  ride  in?     Of  course  I  did.' 
'Why?' 

*  Because  you  couldn't,  of  course.     I  knew  that.' 

*  Did  you  care? ' 

203 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'If  you  had  come  in — but  I  knew  you  wouldn't — but 
if  you  had,  I  should  have  cared  a  great  deal.  You  know 
I  should.' 

'Thank  God  I  didn't!  Oh,  but  I  wanted  to!  I 
couldn't  trust  myself  to  ride  in  front  of  the  carts,  be- 
cause I  kept  edging  'em  over  here,  don't  you  know?' 

'I  knew  you  wouldn't,'  said  William,  contentedly. 
'Here's  your  fifty.' 

Scott  bent  forward  and  kissed  the  hand  that  held  the 
greasy  notes.  Its  fellow  patted  him  awkwardly  but 
very  tenderly  on  the  head. 

'And  you  knew,  too,  didn't  you?'  said  William,  in  a 
new  voice. 

'No,  on  my  honour,  I  didn't.  I  hadn't  the — the 
cheek  to  expect  anything  of  the  kind,  except  .  .  . 
I  say,  were  you  out  riding  anywhere  the  day  I  passed 
bytoKhanda?' 

William  nodded,  and  smiled  after  the  manner  of  an 
angel  surprised  in  a  good  deed. 

'Then  it  was  just  a  speck  I  saw  of  your  habit  in  the — ' 

'Palm-grove  on  the  Southern  cart-road.  I  saw  your 
helmet  w^hen  you  came  up  from  the  nullah  by  the  tem- 
ple— ^just  enough  to  be  sure  that  you  were  all  right. 
D'you  care?' 

This  time  Scott  did  not  kiss  her  hand,  for  they  were 
in  the  dusk  of  the  dining-tent,  and,  because  William's 
knees  were  trembling  under  her,  she  had  to  sit  down  in 
the  nearest  chair,  where  she  wept  long  and  happily,  her 
head  on  her  arms;  and  when  Scott  imagined  that  it 
would  be  well  to  comfort  her,  she  needing  nothing  of  the 
kind,  she  ran  to  her  own  tent;  and  Scott  went  out  into 
the  world,  and  smiled  upon  it  largely  and  idiotically. 
But  when  Faiz  Ullah  brought  him  a  drink,  he  found  it 

204 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

necessary  to  support  one  hand  with  the  other,  or  the 
good  whisky  and  soda  would  have  been  spilled  abroad. 
There  are  fevers  and  fevers. 

But  it  was  worse— much  worse — the  strained,  eye- 
shirking  talk  at  dinner  till  the  servants  had  withdrawn, 
and  worst  of  all  when  Mrs.  Jim,  who  had  been  on  the 
edge  of  weeping  from  the  soup  down,  kissed  Scott  and 
William,  and  they  drank  one  whole  bottle  of  champagne, 
hot,  because  there  was  no  ice,  and  Scott  and  William  sat 
outside  the  tent  in  the  starlight  till  Mrs.  Jim  drove  them 
in  for  fear  of  more  fever. 

Apropos  of  these  things  and  some  others  William  said : 
'Being  engaged  is  abominable,  because,  you  see,  one  has 
no  official  position.  We  must  be  thankful  that  we've 
lots  of  things  to  do.' 

'Things  to  do!'  said  Jim,  when  that  was  reported  to 
him.  'They're  neither  of  them  any  good  any  more.  I 
can't  get  five  hours'  work  a  day  out  of  Scott.  He's  in 
the  clouds  half  the  time.' 

'Oh,  but  they're  so  beautiful  to  watch,  Jimmy.  It 
will  break  my  heart  when  they  go.  Can't  you  do  any- 
thing for  him? ' 

'I've  given  the  Government  the  impression — at  least, 
I  hope  I  have — that  he  personally  conducted  the  entire 
famine.  But  all  he  wants  is  to  get  on  to  the  Luni  Canal 
Works,  and  William's  just  as  bad.  Have  you  ever 
heard  'em  talking  of  barrage  and  aprons  and  waste- 
water?    It's  their  style  of  spooning,  I  suppose.' 

Mrs.  Jim  smiled  tenderly.  'Ah,  that's  in  the  inter- 
vals— bless  'em.' 

And  so  Love  ran  about  the  camp  unrebuked  in  broad 
daylight,  while  men  picked  up  the  pieces  and  put  them 
neatly  away  of  the  Famine  in  the  Eight  Districts. 

205 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

Morning  brought  the  penetrating  chill  of  the  North- 
ern December,  the  layers  of  wood-smoke,  the  dusty 
gray  blue  of  the  tamarisks,  the  domes  of  ruined  tombs, 
and  all  the  smell  of  the  white  Northern  plains,  as  the 
mail-train  ran  on  to  the  mile-long  Sutlej  Bridge.  Wil- 
liam, wrapped  in  a  poshteen — a  silk-embroidered  sheep- 
skin jacket  trimmed  with  rough  astrakhan — looked  out 
with  moist  eyes  and  nostrils  that  dilated  joyously. 
The  South  of  pagodas  and  palm-trees,  the  over-popu- 
lated Hindu  South,  was  done  with.  Here  was  the  land 
she  knew  and  loved,  and  before  her  lay  the  good  life  she 
understood,  among  folk  of  her  own  caste  and  mind. 

They  were  picking  them  up  at  almost  every  station 
now — men  and  women  coming  in  for  the  Christmas 
Week,  with  racquets,  with  bundles  of  polo-sticks,  with 
dear  and  bruised  cricket-bats,  with  fox-terriers  and 
saddles.  The  greater  part  of  them  wore  jackets  like 
William's,  for  the  Northern  cold  is  as  little  to  be  trifled 
with  as  the  Northern  heat.  And  William  was  among 
them  and  of  them,  her  hands  deep  in  her  pockets,  her 
collar  turned  up  over  her  ears,  stamping  her  feet  on  the 
platforms  as  she  walked  up  and  down  to  get  warm, 
visiting  from  carriage  to  carriage,  and  everywhere  being 
congratulated.  Scott  was  with  the  bachelors  at  the  far 
end  of  the  train,  where  they  chaffed  him  mercilessly 
about  feeding  babies  and  milking  goats;  but  from  time 
to  time  he  would  stroll  up  to  William's  window,  and 
murmur:  'Good  enough,  isn't  it?'  and  William  would 
answer  with  sighs  of  pure  delight:  'Good  enough,  in- 
deed.' The  large  open  names  of  the  home  towns  were 
good  to  listen  to.  Umballa,  Ludianah,  Phillour,  Jullun- 
dur,  they  rang  like  the  coming  marriage-bells  in  her  ears, 
and  William  felt  deeply  and  truly  sorry  for  all  strangers 

206 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 

and  outsiders — visitors,  tourists,  and  those  fresh-caught 
for  the  service  of  the  country. 

It  was  a  glorious  return,  and  when  the  bachelors  gave 
the  Christmas  ball,  William  was,  unofTicially,  you  might 
say,  the  chief  and  honoured  guest  among  the  stewards, 
who  could  make  things  very  pleasant  for  their  friends. 
She  and  Scott  danced  nearly  all  the  dances  together, 
and  sat  out  the  rest  in  the  big  dark  gallery  overlooking 
the  superb  teak  floor,  where  the  uniforms  blazed,  and  the 
spurs  clinked,  and  the  new  frocks  and  four  hundred 
dancers  went  round  and  round  till  the  draped  flags  on 
the  pillars  flapped  and  bellied  to  the  whirl  of  it. 

About  midnight  half  a  dozen  men  who  did  not  care  for 
dancing  came  over  from  the  Club  to  play  '  W'aits,'  and — 
that  was  a  surprise  the  stewards  had  arranged- — before 
any  one  knew  what  had  happened,  the  band  stopped, 
and  hidden  voices  broke  into  'Good  King  Wenceslaus,' 
and  William  in  the  gallery  hummed  and  beat  time  with 
her  foot : 

'  Mark  my  footsteps  well,  my  page, 

Tread  thou  in  them  boldly. 
Thou  shalt  feel  the  winter's  rage 

Freeze  thy  blood  less  coldly ! ' 

'Oh,  I  hope  they  are  going  to  give  us  another!     Isn't 
it  pretty,  coming  out  of  the  dark  in  thai  way?     Look — 
look  down.     There's  Mrs.  Gregory  wiping  her  eyes ! ' 
'It's  like  home,  rather,'  said  Scott.     'I  remember — ' 
' H'sh !     Listen ! — dear.'     And  it  began  again : 

*When  shepherds  watched  their  flocks  by  night — ' 

'  A-h-h!'  said  William,  drawing  closer  to  Scott. 

207 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'All  seated  on  the  ground, 
The  Angel  of  the  Lord  came  down, 
And  glory  shone  around. 
"Fear  not,"  said  he  (for  mighty  dread 
Had  seized  their  troubled  mind) ; 
"  Glad  tidings  of  great  joy  I  bring 
To  you  and  all  mankind." ' 

This  time  it  was  William  that  wiped  her  eyes. 


208 


•007 
(1896) 

A  LOCOMOTIVE  is,  next  to  a  marine  engine,  the 
most  sensitive  thing  man  ever  made;  and  No. 
•007,  besides  being  sensitive,  was  new.  The  red 
paint  was  hardly  dry  on  his  spotless  bumper-bar,  his 
headlight  shone  like  a  fireman's  helmet,  and  his  cab 
might  have  been  a  hardwood-fmish  parlour.  They  had 
run  him  into  the  round-house  after  his  trial — he  had 
said  good-bye  to  his  best  friend  in  the  shops,  the  over- 
head travelling-crane — the  big  world  was  just  outside; 
and  the  other  locos  were  taking  stock  of  him.  He  looked 
at  the  semicircle  of  bold,  unwinking  headlights,  heard 
the  low  purr  and  mutter  of  the  steam  mounting  in  the 
gauges — scornful  hisses  of  contempt  as  a  slack  valve 
lifted  a  little — and  would  have  given  a  month's  oil  for 
leave  to  crawl  through  his  own  driving-wheels  into 
the  brick  ash-pit  beneath  him.  '007  was  an  eight- 
wheeled  'American'  loco,  slightly  different  from  others 
of  his  type,  and  as  he  stood  he  was  worth  ten  thousand 
dollars  on  the  Company's  books.  But  if  you  had 
bought  him  at  his  own  valuation,  after  half  an  hour's 
waiting  in  the  darkish,  echoing  round-house,  you  would 
have  saved  exactly  nine  thousand  nine  hundred  and 
ninety-nine  dollars  and  ninety-eight  cents. 

A  heavy  Mogul  freight,  with  a  short  cow-catcher  and 

209 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

a  fire-box  that  came  down  within  three  inches  of  the  rail, 
began  the  impoHte  game,  speaking  to  a  Pittsburgh  Con- 
solidation, who  was  visiting. 

'  Where  did  this  thing  blow  in  from? '  he  asked,  with  a 
dreamy  puff  of  light  steam. 

'  It's  all  I  can  do  to  keep  track  of  our  own  makes,'  was  the 
answer,  'without  lookin'  after  your  back-numbers.  'Guess 
it's  something  Peter  Cooper  left  over  when  he  died.' 

•007  quivered;  his  steam  was  getting  up,  but  he  held 
his  tongue.  Even  a  hand-car  knows  what  sort  of  loco- 
motive it  was  that  Peter  Cooper  experimented  upon  in 
the  far-away  Thirties.  It  carried  its  coal  and  water  in 
two  apple-barrels,  and  was  not  much  bigger  than  a  bicycle. 

Then  up  and  spoke  a  small,  newish  switching-engine, 
with  a  little  step  in  front  of  his  bumper-timber,  and  his 
wheels  so  close  together  that  he  looked  like  a  broncho 
getting  ready  to  buck. 

'Something's  wrong  with  the  road  when  a  Pennsyl- 
vania gravel-pusher  tells  us  anything  about  our  stock,  I 
think.  That  kid's  all  right.  Eustis  designed  him,  and 
Eustis  designed  me.     Ain't  that  good  enough? ' 

'007  could  have  carried  the  switching-loco  round  the 
yard  in  his  tender,  but  he  felt  grateful  for  even  this  little 
word  of  consolation. 

'  We  don't  use  hand-cars  on  the  Pennsylvania,'  said  the 
Consolidation.  'That — er — peanut-stand's  old  enough 
and  ugly  enough  to  speak  for  himself.' 

'He  hasn't  bin  spoken  to  yet.  He's  bin  spoken  at. 
Hain't  ye  any  manners  on  the  Pennsylvania?'  said  the 
switching-loco. 

'You  ought  to  be  in  the  yard,  Poney,'  said  the  Mogul, 
severely.     '  We're  all  long-haulers  here.' 

'That's  what  you  think,'  the  little  fellow  replied. 

210 


•007 

*  You'll  know  more  'fore  the  night's  out.  I've  bin  down 
to  Track  17,  and  the  freight  there — oh,  Christmas!' 

'I've  trouble  enough  in  my  own  division,'  said  a  lean, 
light  suburban  loco  with  very  shiny  brake-shoes.  '  My 
commuters  wouldn't  rest  till  they  got  a  parlour-car. 
They've  hitched  her  back  of  all,  and  she  hauls  worse'n  a 
snow-plough.  I'll  snap  her  off  some  day  sure,  and  then 
they'll  blame  every  one  except  their  fool  selves.  They'll 
be  askin'  me  to  haul  a  vestibuled  next!' 

'They  made  you  in  New  Jersey,  didn't  they?'  said 
Poney.  '  'Thought  so.  Commuters  and  truck-waggons 
ain't  any  sweet  haulin',  but  I  tell  you  they're  a  heap 
better'n  cuttin'  out  refrigerator-cars  or  oil-tanks.  Why, 
I've  hauled — ■' 

'Haul!  You? ' said  the  Mogul  contemptuously.  'It's 
all  you  can  do  to  bunt  a  cold-storage  car  up  the 
yard.  Now,  I' — he  paused  a  little  to  let  the  words  sink 
in — 'I  handle  the  Flying  Freight — e-leven  cars  worth 
just  anything  you  please  to  mention.  On  the  stroke 
of  eleven  I  pull  out;  and  I'm  timed  for  thirty-five  an 
hour.  Costly — perishable — fragile — immediate — that's 
me!  Suburban  traffic's  only  but  one  degree  better  than 
switching.     Express  freight's  what  pays.' 

'Well,  I  ain't  given  to  blowing,  as  a  rule,'  began  the 
Pittsburgh  Consolidation. 

'No?  You  was  sent  in  here  because  you  grunted  on 
the  grade,'  Poney  interrupted. 

'Where  I  grunt,  you'd  lie  down,  Poney;  but,  as  I  was 
saying,  I  don't  blow  much.  Notwithstandin',  if  you 
want  to  see  freight  that  is  freight  moved  lively,  you 
should  see  me  warbling  through  the  Alleghanies  with 
thirty-seven  ore-cars  behind  me,  and  my  brake-men 
fightin'  tramps  so's  they  can't  attend  to  my  tooter.     I 

211 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

have  to  do  all  the  holdin'  back  then,  and,  though  I  say 
it,  I've  never  had  a  load  get  away  from  me  yet.  No, 
sir.  Haulin'  's  one  thing,  but  judgment  and  discre- 
tion's another.     You  want  judgment  in  my  business.' 

'Ah!  But — but  are  you  not  paralysed  by  a  sense 
of  your  overwhelming  responsibilities? '  said  a  curious, 
husky  voice  from  a  corner. 

'Who's  that?'  '007  whispered  to  the  Jersey  commuter. 

'Compound — experiment — N.  G.  She's  bin  switch- 
in'  in  the  B.  &  A.  yards  for  six  months,  when  she  wasn't 
in  the  shops.  She's  economical  (I  call  it  mean)  in  her 
coal,  but  she  takes  it  out  in  repairs.  Ahem!  I  pre- 
sume you  found  Boston  somewhat  isolated,  madam, 
after  your  New  York  season? ' 

'I  am  never  so  well  occupied  as  when  I  am  alone.' 
The  Compound  seemed  to  be  talking  from  halfway  up 
her  smoke-stack. 

'Sure,'  said  the  irreverent  Poney,  under  his  breath. 
'They  don't  hanker  after  her  any  in  the  yard.' 

'But,  with  my  constitution  and  temperament — my 
work  lies  in  Boston — I  fmd  your  outrecuidance — ' 

'Outer  which?'  said  the  Mogul  freight.  'Simple 
cylinders  are  good  enough  for  me.' 

'Perhaps  I  should  have  said  faroucherie,'  hissed  the 
Compound. 

'I  don't  hold  with  any  make  of  papier-mache  wheel,' 
the  Mogul  insisted. 

The  Compound  sighed  pityingly,  and  said  no  more. 

'Git  'em  all  shapes  in  this  world,  don't  ye?'  said 
Poney.  'That's  Mass'chusetts  all  over.  They  half 
start,  an'  then  they  stick  on  a  dead-centre,  an'  blame  it 
all  on  other  folk's  ways  o'  treatin'  them.  Talkin'  o' 
Boston,  Comanche  told  me,  last  night,  he  had  a  hot-box 

212 


•007 

just  beyond  the  Newtons,  Friday.  That  was  why,  he 
says,  the  Accommodation  was  held  up.  Made  out  no 
end  of  a  tale,  Comanche  did.' 

'If  I'd  heard  that  in  the  shops,  with  my  boiler  out  for 
repairs,  I'd  know  't  was  one  o'  Comanche's  lies,'  the 
New  Jersey  commuter  snapped.  'Hot-box!  Him! 
\Yhat  happened  was  they'd  put  an  extra  car  on,  and  he 
just  lay  down  on  the  grade  and  squealed.  They  had  to 
send  127  to  help  him  through.  Made  it  out  a  hot-box, 
did  he?  Time  before  that  he  said  he  was  ditched! 
Looked  me  square  in  the  headlight  and  told  me  that 
as  cool  as — as  a  water-tank  in  a  cold  wave.  Hot-box! 
You  ask  127  about  Comanche's  hot-box.  Why,  Com- 
anche he  was  side-tracked,  and  127  (he  was  just  about 
as  mad  as  they  make  'em  on  account  o'  being  called  out 
at  ten  o'clock  at  night)  took  hold  and  whirled  her  into 
Boston  in  seventeen  minutes.  Hot-box!  Hot  fraud! 
That's  what  Comanche  is.' 

Then  '007  put  both  drivers  and  his  pilot  into  it,  as  the 
saying  is,  for  he  asked  what  sort  of  thing  a  hot-box 
might  be? 

'Paint  my  bell  sky-blue!'  said  Poney,  the  switcher. 
*Make  me  a  surface-railroad  loco  with  a  hardwood 
skirtin'-board  round  my  wheels!  Break  me  up  and 
cast  me  into  five-cent  sidewalk-fakirs'  mechanical  toys ! 
Here's  an  eight-wheel  coupled  "American"  don't  know 
what  a  hot-box  is !  Never  heard  of  an  emergency-stop 
either,  did  ye?  Don't  know  what  ye  carry  jack-screws 
for?  You're  too  innocent  to  be  left  alone  with  your 
own  tender.     Oh,  you — you  flat-car ! ' 

There  was  a  roar  of  escaping  steam  before  any  one 
could  answer,  and  "007  nearly  blistered  his  paint  off 
with  pure  mortification. 

213 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'A  hot-box,'  began  the  Compound,  picking  and 
choosing  the  words  as  though  they  were  coal,  'a  hot-box 
is  the  penalty  exacted  from  inexperience  by  haste. 
Ahem!' 

'Hot-box!'  said  the  Jersey  Suburban.  'It's  the  price 
you  pay  for  going  on  the  tear.  It's  years  since  I've 
had  one.  It's  a  disease  that  don't  attack  short-haulers, 
as  a  rule.' 

'We  never  have  hot-boxes  on  the  Pennsylvania,'  said 
the  Consolidation.  'They  get  'em  in  New  York — same 
as  nervous  prostration.' 

'Ah,  go  home  on  a  ferry-boat,'  said  the  Mogul.  'You 
think  because  you  use  worse  grades  than  our  road  'ud 
allow,  you're  a  kind  of  Alleghany  angel.  Now,  I'll  tell 
you  what  you  .  .  .  Here's  my  folk.  Well,  I  can't 
stop.     See  you  later,  perhaps.' 

He  rolled  forward  majestically  to  the  turn-table,  and 
swung  like  a  man-of-war  in  a  tideway,  till  he  picked  up 
his  track.  'But  as  for  you,  you  pea-green  swivellin' 
coffee-pot  [this  to  '007],  you  go  out  and  learn  something 
before  you  associate  with  those  who've  made  more 
mileage  in  a  week  than  you'll  roll  up  in  a  year.  Costly 
— perishable — fragile — immediate — that's  me  I    S  'long.' 

'  Split  my  tubes  if  that's  actin'  polite  to  a  new  member 
o'  the  Brotherhood,'  said  Poney.  'There  wasn't  any 
call  to  trample  on  ye  like  that.  But  manners  was  left 
out  when  Moguls  was  made.  Keep  up  your  fire,  kid, 
an'  burn  your  own  smoke.  'Guess  we'll  all  be  wanted 
in  a  minute.' 

Men  were  talking  rather  excitedly  in  the  round-house. 
One  man,  in  a  dingy  jersey,  said  that  he  hadn't  any  loco- 
motives to  waste  on  the  yard.  Another  man,  with  a 
piece  of  crumpled  paper  in  his  hand,  said  that  the  yard- 

214 


•007 

master  said  that  he  was  to  say  that  if  the  other  man  said 
anything,  he  (the  other  man)  was  to  shut  his  head. 
Then  the  other  man  waved  his  arms,  and  wanted  lo 
know  if  he  was  expected  to  keep  locomotives  in  his  hip- 
pocket.  Then  a  man  in  a  black  Prince  Albert  coat, 
without  a  collar,  came  up  dripping,  for  it  was  a  hot 
August  night,  and  said  that  what  he  said  went;  and 
between  the  three  of  them  the  locomotives  began  to  go, 
too — first  the  Compound,  then  the  Consolidation,  then 
•007. 

Now,  deep  down  in  his  fire-box,  '007  had  cherished  a 
hope  that  as  soon  as  his  trial  was  done,  he  would  be  led 
forth  with  songs  and  shoutings,  and  attached  to  a  green- 
and-chocolate  vestibuled  flyer,  under  charge  of  a  bold 
and  noble  engineer,  who  would  pat  him  on  his  back,  and 
weep  over  him,  and  call  him  his  Arab  steed.  (The  boys 
in  the  shops  where  he  was  built  used  to  read  wonderful 
stories  of  railroad  life,  and  '007  expected  things  to 
happen  as  he  had  heard.)  But  there  did  not  seem  to  be 
many  vestibuled  fliers  in  the  roaring,  rumbling,  electric- 
lighted  yards,  and  his  engineer  only  said  : 

*Now,  what  sort  of  a  fool-sort  of  an  injector  has  Eustis 
loaded  on  to  this  rig  this  time? '  And  he  put  the  lever 
over  with  an  angry  snap,  crying: 'Am  I  supposed  to  switch 
with  this  thing,  hey? ' 

The  collarless  man  mopped  his  head,  and  replied  that, 
in  the  present  state  of  the  yard  and  freight  and  a  few 
other  things,  the  engineer  would  switch  and  keep  on 
switching  till  the  cows  came  home.  '007  pushed  out 
gingerly,  his  heart  in  his  headlight,  so  nervous  that  the 
clang  of  his  own  bell  almost  made  him  jump  the  track. 
Lanterns  waved,  or  danced  up  and  down,  before  and 
behind  him;  and  on  every  side,  six  tracks  deep,  sliding 

215 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

backward  and  forward,  with  clashings  of  couplers  and 
squeals  of  hand-brakes,  were  cars^ — more  cars  than  '007 
had  dreamed  of.  There  were  oil-cars,  and  hay-cars, 
and  stock-cars  full  of  lowing  beasts,  and  ore-cars,  and 
potato-cars  with  stovepipe-ends  sticking  out  in  the 
middle;  cold-storage  and  refrigerator  cars  dripping  ice- 
water  on  the  tracks;  ventilated  fruit-  and  milk-cars;  flat- 
cars  with  truck-waggons  full  of  market-stuff;  flat-cars 
loaded  with  reapers  and  binders,  all  red  and  green  and 
gilt  under  the  sizzling  electric  lights;  flat-cars  piled  high 
with  strong-scented  hides,  pleasant  hemlock-plank,  or 
bundles  of  shingles;  flat-cars  creaking  to  the  weight 
of  thirty-ton  castings,  angle-irons,  and  rivet-boxes  for 
some  new  bridge;  and  hundreds  and  hundreds  and  hun- 
dreds of  box-cars  loaded,  locked  and  chalked.  Men — 
hot  and  angry — crawled  among  and  between  and  under 
the  thousand  wheels;  men  took  flying  jumps  through  his 
cab,  when  he  halted  for  a  moment;  men  sat  on  his  pilot 
as  he  went  forward,  and  on  his  tender  as  he  returned ; 
and  regiments  of  men  ran  along  the  tops  of  the  box-cars 
beside  him,  screwing  down  brakes,  waving  their  arms, 
and  crying  curious  things. 

He  was  pushed  forward  a  foot  at  a  time,  whirled  back- 
wards, his  rear  drivers  clinking  and  clanking,  a  quarter 
of  a  mile;  jerked  into  a  switch  (yard-switches  are  very 
stubby  and  unaccommodating),  bunted  into  a  Red  D, 
or  Merchant's  Transport  car,  and,  with  no  hint  or  knowl- 
edge of  the  weight  behind  him,  started  up  anew. 
When  his  load  was  fairly  on  the  move,  three  or  four  cars 
would  be  cut  off,  and  '007  would  bound  forward,  only 
to  be  held  hiccupping  on  the  brake.  Then  he  would 
wait  a  few  minutes,  watching  the  whirled  lanterns, 
deafened  with  the  clang  of  the  bells,  giddy  with  the 

216 


•007 

vision  of  the  sliding  cars,  his  brake-pump  panting  forty 
to  the  minute,  his  front  coupler  lying  sideways  on  his 
cow-catcher,  like  a  tired  dog's  tongue  in  his  mouth,  and 
the  whole  of  him  covered  with  half-burnt  coal-dust. 

'  'Tisn't  so  easy  switching  with  a  straight-backed 
tender,'  said  his  little  friend  of  the  round-house,  bustling 
by  at  a  trot.  'But  you're  comin'  on  pretty  fair.  Ever 
seen  a  flyin'  switch?     No?     Then  watch  me.' 

Poney  was  in  charge  of  a  dozen  heavy  flat-cars. 
Suddenly  he  shot  away  from  them  with  asharp  '  Whutt!' 
A  switch  opened  in  the  shadows  ahead;  he  turned  up  it 
like  a  rabbit,  it  snapped  behind  him,  and  the  long  line 
of  twelve-foot-high  lumber  jolted  on  into  the  arms  of  a 
full-sized  road-loco,  who  acknowledged  receipt  with  a 
dry  howl. 

'My  man's  reckoned  the  smartest  in  the  yard  at  that 
trick,'  he  said,  returning.  'Gives  me  cold  shivers  when 
another  fool  tries  it,  though.  That's  where  my  short 
wheel-base  comes  in.  Likes  as  not  you'd  have  your 
tender  scraped  off  if  you  tried  it.' 

'007  had  no  ambitions  that  way,  and  said  so. 

'No?  Of  course  this  ain  t  your  regular  business,  but 
say,  don't  you  think  it's  interestin'?  Have  you  seen 
the  yard-master?  Well,  he's  the  greatest  man  on  earth, 
an'  don't  you  forget  it.  When  are  we  through?  Why, 
kid,  it's  always  like  this,  day  an'  night — Sundays  and 
week-days.  See  that  thirty-car  freight  slidin'  in  four, 
no,  five  tracks  off?  She's  all  mixed  freight,  sent  here  to 
be  sorted  out  into  straight  trains.  That's  why  we're 
cuttin'  out  the  cars  one  by  one.'  He  gave  a  vigorous 
push  to  a  west-bound  car  as  he  spoke,  and  started  back 
with  a  little  snort  of  surprise,  for  the  car  was  an  old 
friend — an  M.  T.  K.  box-car. 

217 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'Jack  my  drivers,  but  it's  Homeless  Kate!  Why, 
Kate,  ain't  there  no  gettin'  you  back  to  your  friends? 
There's  forty  chasers  out  for  you  from  your  road,  if 
there's  one.     Who's  holdin'  you  now?' 

''Wish  I  knew,'  whimpered  Homeless  Kate.  'I  be- 
long in  Topeka,  but  I've  bin  to  Cedar  Rapids;  I've  bin 
to  Winnipeg;  I've  bin  to  Newport  News;  I've  bin  all 
down  the  old  Atlanta  and  West  Point;  an'  I've  bin  to 
Buffalo.  Maybe  I'll  fetch  up  at  Haverstraw.  I've  only 
bin  out  ten  months,  but  I'm  homesick — I'm  just  achin' 
homesick.' 

'Try  Chicago,  Katie,'  said  the  switching-loco;  and 
the  battered  old  car  lumbered  down  the  track,  jolting: 
'I  want  to  be  in  Kansas  when  the  sunflowers  bloom.' 

'Yard's  full  o'  Homeless  Kates  an'  Wanderin'  Willies,' 
he  explained  to  '007.  'I  knew  an  old  Fitchburg  flat-car 
out  seventeen  months;  an'  one  of  ours  was  gone  fifteen 
'fore  ever  we  got  track  of  her.  Dunno  quite  how  our 
men  fix  it.  Swap  around,  I  guess.  Anyway,  I've  done 
my  duty.  She's  on  her  way  to  Kansas,  via  Chicago; 
but  I'll  lay  my  next  boilerful  she'll  be  held  there  to  wait 
consignee's  convenience,  and  sent  back  to  us  with  wheat 
in  the  fall.' 

Just  then  the  Pittsburgh  Consolidation  passed,  at  the 
head  of  a  dozen  cars. 

'  I'm  goin'  home,'  he  said  proudly. 

*  Can't  get  all  them  twelve  on  to  the  flat.  Break  'em 
in  half.  Duchy!'  cried  Poney.  But  it  was  '007  who  was 
backed  down  to  the  last  six  cars,  and  he  nearly  blew  up 
with  surprise  when  he  found  himself  pushing  them  on  to 
a  huge  ferry-boat.  He  had  never  seen  deep  water  be- 
fore, and  shivered  as  the  flat  drew  away  and  left  his 
bogies  within  six  inches  of  the  black,  shiny  tide. 

218 


•007 

After  this  he  was  hurried  to  the  freight-house,  where 
he  saw  the  yard-master,  a  smallish,  white-faced  man  in 
shirt,  trousers,  and  slippers,  looking  down  upon  a  sea  of 
trucks,  a  mob  of  baw^ling  truckmen,  and  squadrons  of 
backing,  turning,  sweating,  spark-striking  horses. 

'That's  shippers'  carts  loadin'  on  to  the  receivin' 
trucks,'  said  the  small  engine  reverently.  'But  he  don't 
care.  He  lets  'em  cuss.  He's  the  Czar — King — Boss! 
He  says  "Please,"  and  then  they  kneel  down  an'  pray. 
There's  three  or  four  strings  o'  to-day's  freight  to  be 
pulled  before  he  can  attend  to  them.  When  he  waves 
his  hand  that  way,  things  happen.' 

A  string  of  loaded  cars  slid  out  down  the  track,  and  a 
string  of  empties  took  their  place.  Bales,  crates,  boxes, 
jars,  carboys,  frails,  cases,  and  packages,  flew  into  them 
from  the  freight-house  as  though  the  cars  had  been 
magnets  and  they  iron  filings. 

'  Ki-yah ! '  shrieked  little  Poney .     '  Ain't  it  great? ' 

A  purple-faced  truckman  shouldered  his  way  to  the 
yard-master,  and  shook  his  fist  under  his  nose.  The 
yard-master  never  looked  up  from  his  bundle  of  freight- 
receipts.  He  crooked  his  forefinger  slightly,  and  a  tall 
young  man  in  a  red  shirt,  lounging  carelessly  beside  him, 
hit  the  truckman  under  the  left  ear,  so  that  he  dropped, 
quivering  and  clucking,  on  a  hay-bale. 

'Eleven,  seven,  ninety-seven,  L.  Y.  S.;  fourteen  ought 
ought  three;  nineteen  thirteen;  one  one  four;  seventeen 
ought  twenty-one  M.  B.;  and  the  ten  west-bound.  All 
straight  except  the  two  last.  Cut  'em  off  at  the  junc- 
tion. An'  that's  all  right.  Pull  that  string.'  The 
yard-master,  with  mild  blue  eyes,  looked  out  over  the 
howling  truckmen  at  the  waters  in  the  moonlight  be- 
yond, and  hummed : 

219 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'AH  things  bright  and  beautiful, 
All  creatures  great  and  small, 
All  things  wise  and  wonderful, 
The  Lawd  Gawd  He  made  all ! ' 

•007  moved  the  cars  out  and  delivered  them  to  the 
regular  road-engine.  He  had  never  felt  quite  so  limp 
in  his  life. 

'Curious,  ain't  it?'  said  Poney,  puffing,  on  the  next 
track.  'You  an'  me,  if  we  got  that  man  under  our 
bumpers,  we'd  work  him  into  red  waste  and  not  know 
what  we'd  done;  but — up  there  with  the  steam  hum- 
min'  in  his  boiler  that  awful  quiet  way     .     .     . ' 

'  I  know,'  said  '007.  ' Makes  me  feel  as  if  I'd  dropped 
my  fire  an'  was  getting  cold.  He  is  the  greatest  man 
on  earth.' 

They  were  at  the  far  north  end  of  the  yard  now,  under 
a  switch-tower,  looking  down  on  the  four-track  way  of 
the  main  traffic.  The  Boston  Compound  was  to  haul 
•007's  string  to  some  far-away  northern  junction  over 
an  indifferent  road-bed,  and  she  mourned  aloud  for  the 
ninety-six-pound  rails  of  the  B.  &  A. 

'You're  young;  you're  young,'  she  coughed.  'You 
don't  realise  your  responsibilities.' 

'Yes,  he  does,'  said  Poney  sharply;  'but  he  don't  lie 
down  under  'em.'  Then,  with  a  side-spurt  of  steam, 
exactly  like  a  tough  spitting:  'There  ain't  more  than 
fifteen  thousand  dollars'  worth  o'  freight  behind  her 
anyway,  and  she  carries  on  as  if  'twere  a  hundred 
thousand — same  as  the  Mogul's.  Excuse  me,  madam, 
but  you've  the  track.  .  .  .  She's  stuck  on  a  dead- 
centre  again — bein'  specially  designed  not  to.' 

The  Compound  crawled  across  the  tracks  on  a  long 

220 


•007 

slant,  groaning  horribly  at  each  switch,  and  moving  like 
a  cow  in  a  snow-drift.  There  was  a  little  pause  along 
the  yard  after  her  tail-lights  had  disappeared;  switches 
locked  crisply,  and  every  one  seemed  to  be  waiting. 

'Now  I'll  show  you  something  worth,'  said  Poney. 
'When  the  Purple  Emperor  ain't  on  time,  it's  about 
time  to  amend  the  Constitution.  The  first  stroke  of 
twelve  is — ' 

'Boom!'  went  the  clock  in  the  big  yard-tower,  and  far 
away  '007  heard  a  full  vibrating  'Yah!  Yah!  Yah!' 
A  headlight  twinkled  on  the  horizon  like  a  star,  grew  an 
overpowering  blaze,  and  whooped  up  the  humming 
track  to  the  roaring  music  of  a  happy  giant's  song: 

'With    a    michnai — ghignai — shtingal!     Yah!     Yah! 

Yah! 
Ein—zwei—drei— Mutter!    Yah!    Yah!    Yah! 

She  climb  upon  der  shteeple, 

Und  she  frighten  all  der  people. 
Singin' michnai — ghignai — shtingal!    Yah!    Yah!' 

The  last  defiant  'yah!  yah!'  was  delivered  a  mile  and  a 
half  beyond  the  passenger-depot;  but  '007  had  caught 
one  glimpse  of  the  superb  six-wheel-coupled  racing- 
locomotive,  who  hauled  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  road 
— the  gilt-edged  Purple  Emperor,  the  millionaires' 
south-bound  express,  laying  the  miles  over  his  shoulder 
as  a  man  peels  a  shaving  from  a  soft  board.  The  rest 
was  a  blur  of  maroon  enamel,  a  bar  of  white  light  from 
the  electrics  in  the  cars,  and  a  flicker  of  nickel-plated 
hand-rail  on  the  rear  platform. 

'Ooh!' said -007. 

'  Seventy-five  miles  an  hour  these  five  miles.     Baths, 

221 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

I've  heard;  barber's  shop;  ticker;  and  a  Hbrary  and  the 
rest  to  match.  Yes,  sir;  seventy-five  an  hour!  But 
he'll  talk  to  you  in  the  round-house  just  as  democratic 
as  I  would.  And  I — cuss  my  wheel-base! — I'd  kick 
clean  off  the  track  at  half  his  gait.  He's  the  master  of 
our  Lodge.  Cleans  up  at  our  house.  I'll  introdooce 
you  some  day.  He's  worth  knowin ' !  There  ain't  many 
can  sing  that  song,  either.' 

■007  was  too  full  of  emotions  to  answer.  He  did  not 
hear  a  raging  of  telephone-bells  in  the  switch-tower,  nor 
the  man,  as  he  leaned  out  and  called  to  'OO/'s  engineer: 
'Got  any  steam?' 

'  'Nough  to  run  her  a  hundred  mile  out  o'  this,  if  I 
could,'  said  the  engineer,  who  belonged  to  the  open  road 
and  hated  switching. 

'Then  get.  The  Flying  Freight's  ditched  forty  mile 
out,  with  fifty  rod  o'  track  ploughed  up.  No;  no  one's 
hurt,  but  both  tracks  are  blocked.  Lucky  the  wreckin'- 
car  an'  derrick  are  this  end  of  the  yard.  Crew'll  be 
along  in  a  minute.     Hurry !    You've  the  track.' 

'Well,  I  could  jest  kick  my  little  sawed-off  self,'  said 
Poney,  as  '007  was  backed,  with  a  bang,  on  to  a  grim 
and  grimy  car  like  a  caboose,  but  full  of  tools — a  flat-car 
and  a  derrick  behind  it.  '  Some  folks  are  one  thing,  and 
some  are  another;  but  you're  in  luck,  kid.  They  push  a 
wrecking-car.  Now,  don't  get  rattled.  Your  wheel- 
base  will  keep  you  on  the  track,  and  there  ain't  any 
curves  worth  mentionin'.  Oh,  say!  Comanche  told 
me  there's  one  section  o'  saw-edged  track  that's  liable 
to  jounce  ye  a  little.  Fifteen  an'  a  half  out,  after  the 
grade  at  Jackson's  crossin'.  You'll  know  it  by  a  farm- 
house an'  a  windmill  and  five  maples  in  the  dooryard. 
Windmill's  west  o'  the  maples.     An'  there's  an  eighty- 

222 


•007 

loot  iron  bridge  in  the  middle  o'  that  section  with  no 
guard-rails.     See  you  later.     Luck!' 

Before  he  knew  well  what  had  happened,  '007  was 
flying  up  the  track  into  the  dumb  dark  world.  Then 
fears  of  the  night  beset  him.  He  remembered  all  he 
had  ever  heard  of  landslides,  rain-piled  boulders,  blown 
trees,  and  strayed  cattle;  all  that  the  Boston  Compound 
had  ever  said  of  responsibility;  and  a  great  deal  more 
that  came  out  of  his  own  head.  With  a  very  quavering 
voice  he  whistled  for  his  first  grade  crossing  (an  event 
in  the  life  of  a  locomotive),  and  his  nerves  were  in  no 
way  restored  by  the  sight  of  a  frantic  horse  and  a  white- 
faced  man  in  a  buggy  less  than  a  yard  from  his  right 
shoulder.  Then  he  was  sure  he  would  jump  the  track; 
felt  his  flanges  mounting  the  rail  at  every  curve;  knew 
that  his  first  grade  would  make  him  lie  down  even  as 
Comanche  had  done  at  the  Newtons.  He  swept  down 
the  grade  to  Jackson's  crossing,  saw  the  windmill  west 
of  the  maples,  felt  the  badly-laid  rails  spring  under  him, 
and  sweated  big  drops  all  over  his  boiler.  At  each  jar- 
ring bump  he  believed  an  axle  had  smashed ;  and  he  took 
the  eighty-foot  bridge  without  the  guard-rail  like  a 
hunted  cat  on  the  top  of  a  fence.  Then  a  wet  leaf  stuck 
against  the  glass  of  his  headlight  and  threw  a  flying 
shadow  on  the  track,  so  that  he  thought  it  was  some 
little  dancing  animal  that  would  feel  soft  if  he  ran  over 
it;  and  anything  soft  underfoot  frightens  a  locomotive 
as  it  does  an  elephant.  But  the  men  behind  seemed 
quite  calm.  The  wrecking-crew  were  climbing  care- 
lessly from  the  caboose  to  the  tender — even  jesting 
with  the  engineer,  for  he  heard  a  shuffling  of  feet  among 
the  coal,  and  the  snatch  of  a  song,  something  like 
this: 

223 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'Oh,  the  Empire  State  must  learn  to  wait, 
And  the  Cannon-ball  go  hang, 
When  the   West-bound's  ditched,  and  the  tool-car's 

hitched. 
And  it's  'way  for  the  Breakdown  Gang  (Ta-rara!) 
'Way  for  the  Breakdown  Gang!' 

*Say!  Eustis  knew  what  he  was  doin'  when  he  de- 
signed this  rig.     She's  a  hummer.     New,  too.' 

'Snff!  Phew!  She  is  new.  That  ain't  paint. 
That's—' 

A  burning  pain  shot  through  'OOT's  right  rear  driver— 
a  crippling,  stinging  pain. 

'This,'  said  '007,  as  he  flew,  'is  a  hot-box.  Now  I 
know  what  it  means.  I  shall  go  to  pieces,  I  guess.  My 
first  road-run,  too ! ' 

'Het  a  bit,  ain't  she?'  the  fireman  ventured  to  suggest 
to  the  engineer. 

'  She'll  hold  for  all  we  want  of  her.  We're  'most  there. 
'Guess  you  chaps  back  had  better  climb  into  your  car,' 
said  the  engineer,  his  hand  on  the  brake-lever.  'I've 
seen  men  snapped  off — ' 

But  the  crew  fled  laughing.  They  had  no  wish  to  be 
jerked  on  to  the  track.  The  engineer  half  turned  his 
wrist,  and  '007  found  his  drivers  pinned  firm. 

'Now  it's  come!'  said  '007,  as  he  yelled  aloud,  and 
slid  like  a  sleigh.  For  the  moment  he  fancied  that  he 
would  jerk  bodily  from  off  his  underpinning. 

'That  must  be  the  emergency-stop  Poney  guyed  me 
about,'  he  gasped,  as  soon  as  he  could  think.  'Hot-box 
— emergency-stop.  They  both  hurt;  but  now  I  can 
talk  back  in  the  round-house.' 

He  was  halted,  all  hissing  hot,  a  few  feet  in  the  rear  of 

224 


•007 

what  doctors  would  call  a  compound-comminuted  car. 
His  engineer  was  kneeling  down  among  his  drivers,  but 
he  did  not  call  '007  his  'Arab  steed,'  nor  cry  over  him, 
as  the  engineers  did  in  the  newspapers.  He  just  bad- 
worded  '007,  and  pulled  yards  of  charred  cotton-waste 
from  about  the  axles,  and  hoped  he  might  some  day 
catch  the  idiot  who  had  packed  it.  Nobody  else  at- 
tended to  him,  for  Evans,  the  Mogul's  engineer,  a  little 
cut  about  the  head,  but  very  angry,  was  exhibiting,  by 
lantern-light,  the  mangled  corpse  of  a  slim  blue  pig. 

'  'T  weren't  even  a  decent-sized  hog,'  he  said.  '  'T  were 
a  shote.' 

'Dangerousest  beasts  they  are,'  said  one  of  the  crew. 
'  Get  under  the  pilot  an'  sort  o'  twiddle  ye  off  the  track, 
don't  they?' 

'Don't  they?'  roared  Evans,  who  was  a  red-headed 
Welshman.  'You  talk  as  if  I  was  ditched  by  a  hog 
every  fool-day  o'  the  week.  I  ain't  friends  with  all  the 
cussed  half-fed  shotes  in  the  State  o'  New  York,  No, 
indeed !     Yes,  this  is  him — an'  look  what  he's  done ! ' 

It  was  not  a  bad  night's  work  for  one  stray  piglet. 
The  Flying  Freight  seemed  to  have  flown  in  every  direc- 
tion, for  the  Mogul  had  mounted  the  rails  and  run  diag- 
onally a  few  hundred  feet  from  right  to  left,  taking  with 
him  such  cars  as  cared  to  follow.  Some  had  not.  They 
broke  their  couplers  and  lay  down,  while  rear  cars  frol- 
icked over  them.  In  that  game,  they  had  ploughed  up 
and  removed  and  twisted  a  good  deal  of  the  left-hand 
track.  The  Mogul  himself  had  waddled  into  a  cornfield, 
and  there  he  knelt — fantastic  wreaths  of  green  twisted 
round  his  crank-pins;  his  pilot  covered  with  solid  clods 
of  field,  on  which  corn  nodded  drunkenly;  his  fire  put 
out  with  dirt  (Evans  had  done  that  as  soon  as  he  re- 

225 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

covered  his  senses);  and  his  broken  headlight  half  full 
of  half-burnt  moths.  His  tender  had  thrown  coal  all 
over  him,  and  he  looked  like  a  disreputable  bufTalo  who 
had  tried  to  wallow  in  a  general  store.  For  there  lay, 
scattered  over  the  landscape,  from  the  burst  cars,  type- 
writers, sewing-machines,  bicycles  in  crates,  a  consign- 
ment of  silver-plated  imported  harness,  French  dresses 
and  gloves,  a  dozen  finely  moulded  hard-wood  mantels, 
a  fifteen-foot  naphtha-launch,  with  a  solid  brass  bed- 
stead crumpled  around  her  bows,  a  case  of  telescopes 
and  microscopes,  two  coffins,  a  case  of  very  best  candies, 
some  gilt-edged  dairy  produce,  butter  and  eggs  in  an 
omelette,  a  broken  box  of  expensive  toys,  and  a  few 
hundred  other  luxuries.  A  camp  of  tramps  hurried  up 
from  nowhere,  and  generously  volunteered  to  help  the 
crew.  So  the  brakemen,  armed  with  coupler-pins, 
walked  up  and  down  on  one  side,  and  the  freight-con- 
ductor and  the  fireman  patrolled  the  other  with  their 
hands  in  their  hip-pockets.  A  long-bearded  man  came 
out  of  a  house  beyond  the  cornfield,  and  told  Evans  that 
if  the  accident  had  happened  a  little  later  in  the  year, 
all  his  corn  would  have  been  burned,  and  accused  Evans 
of  carelessness.  Then  he  ran  away,  for  Evans  was  at 
his  heels  shrieking,  '  'Twas  his  hog  done  it — his  hog 
done  it!  Let  me  kill  him!  Let  me  kill  him!'  Then 
the  wrecking-crew  laughed ;  and  the  farmer  put  his  head 
out  of  a  window  and  said  that  Evans  was  no  gentleman. 
But  '007  was  very  sober.  He  had  never  seen  a  wreck 
before,  and  it  frightened  him.  The  crew  still  laughed, 
but  they  worked  at  the  same  time;  and  '007  forgot  horror 
in  amazement  at  the  way  they  handled  the  Mogul 
freight.  They  dug  round  him  with  spades;  they  put 
ties  in  front  of  his  wheels,  and  jack-screws  under  him; 

226 


ill 


•007 

they  embraced  him  with  the  derrick-chain  and  tickled 
him  with  crowbars;  while  "007  was  hitched  on  to  wrecked 
cars  and  backed  away  till  the  knot  broke  or  the  cars 
rolled  clear  of  the  track.  By  dawn  thirty  or  forty  men 
were  at  work,  replacing  and  ramming  down  the  ties, 
gauging  the  rails  and  spiking  them.  By  daylight  all 
cars  who  could  move  had  gone  on  in  charge  of  another 
loco;  the  track  was  freed  for  trafTic;  and  "007  had  hauled 
the  old  Mogul  over  a  small  pavement  of  ties,  inch  by 
inch,  till  his  flanges  bit  the  rail  once  more,  and  he  settled 
down  with  a  clank.  But  his  spirit  was  broken,  and  his 
nerve  was  gone. 

'  'T  weren't  even  a  hog,'  he  repeated  dolefully; '  't  were 
a  shote;  and  you — you  of  all  of  'em — had  to  help  me  on.' 

*But  how  in  the  whole  long  road  did  it  happen?' 
asked  '007  sizzling  with  curiosity. 

'Happen!  It  didn't  happen!  It  just  come!  I  sailed 
right  on  top  of  him  around  that  last  curve — thought  he 
was  a  skunk.  Yes;  he  was  all  as  little  as  that.  He 
hadn't  more'n  squealed  once  'fore  I  felt  my  bogies  lift 
(he'd  rolled  right  under  the  pilot),  and  I  couldn't  catch 
the  track  again  to  save  me.  Swivelled  clean  off,  I  was. 
Then  I  felt  him  sling  himself  along,  all  greasy,  under  my 
left  leadin'  driver,  and,  oh.  Boilers!  that  mounted  the 
rail.  I  heard  my  flanges  zippin'  along  the  ties,  an'  the 
next  I  knew  I  was  playin'  "Sally,  Sally  Waters"  in  the 
corn,  my  tender  shuckin'  coal  through  my  cab,  an'  old 
man  Evans  lyin'  still  an'  bleedin'  in  front  o'  me.  Shook? 
There  ain't  a  stay  or  a  bolt  or  a  rivet  in  me  that  ain't 
sprung  to  glory  somewhere.' 

'  Umm ! '  said  '007.     *  What  d'you  reckon  you  weigh? ' 

'Without  these  lumps  o'  dirt  I'm  all  of  a  hundred 
thousand  pound.' 

227 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'Andtheshote?' 

'Eighty.  Call  him  a  hundred  pounds  at  the  outside. 
He's  worth  about  four'n  a  half  dollars.  Ain't  it  awful? 
Ain't  it  enough  to  give  you  nervous  prostration?  Ain't 
it  paralysin'?  Why,  I  come  just  around  that  curve^ — ■' 
and  the  Mogul  told  the  tale  again,  for  he  was  very  badly 
shaken. 

'Well,  it's  all  in  the  day's  run,  I  guess,'  said  '007, 
soothingly;  'an' — an'  a  cornfield's  pretty  soft  fallin'.' 

'  If  it  had  bin  a  sixty -foot  bridge,  an'  I  could  ha'  slid 
off  into  deep  water,  an'  blown  up  an'  killed  both  men, 
same  as  others  have  done,  I  wouldn't  ha'  cared;  but  to 
be  ditched  by  a  shote — an'  you  to  help  me  out — in  a  corn- 
field— an'  an  old  hayseed  in  his  nightgown  cussin'  me 
like  as  if  I  was  a  sick  truck-horse!  .  .  .  Oh,  it's 
awful!  Don't  call  me  Mogul!  I'm  a  sewin'-machine. 
They'll  guy  my  sand-box  ofY  in  the  yard.' 

And  '007,  his  hot-box  cooled  and  his  experience 
vastly  enlarged,  hauled  the  Mogul  freight  slowly  to  the 
round-house. 

'Hello,  old  man!  Bin  out  all  night,  hain't  ye?'  said 
the  irrepressible  Poney,  who  had  just  come  off  duty. 
'Well,  I  must  say  you  look  it.  Costly — perishable — 
fragile — immediate — that's  you !  Go  to  the  shops,  take 
them  vine-leaves  out  o'  your  hair,  an'  git  'em  to  play 
the  hose  on  you.' 

'Leave  him  alone,  Poney,'  said  "007  severely,  as  he 
was  swung  on  the  turn-table,  'or  I'll — ' 

*  'Didn't  know  the  old  granger  was  any  special  friend 
o'  yours,  kid.  He  wasn't  over  civil  to  you  last  time  I 
saw  him.' 

'I  know  it;  but  I've  seen  a  wreck  since  then,  and  it 
has  about  scared  the  paint  off  me.     I'm  not  going  to  guy 

228 


•007 

any  one  as  long  as  I  steam — not  when  they're  new  to  the 
business  an'  anxious  to  learn.  And  I'm  not  goin'  to  guy 
the  old  Mogul  either,  though  I  did  find  him  wreathed 
around  with  roastin'-ears.  'Twas  a  little  bit  of  a  shote 
— not  a  hog — just  a  shote,  Poney— no  bigger'n  a  lump 
of  anthracite — I  saw  it^ — that  made  all  the  mess.  Any- 
body can  be  ditched,  I  guess.' 

'Found  that  out  already,  have  you?  Well,  that's  a 
good  beginnin'.'  It  was  the  Purple  Emperor,  with  his 
high,  tight,  plate-glass  cab  and  green  velvet  cushion, 
waiting  to  be  cleaned  for  his  next  day's  fly. 

'Let  me  make  you  two  gen'lemen  acquainted,'  said 
Poney.  'This  is  our  Purple  Emperor,  kid,  whom  you 
were  admirin'  and,  I  may  say,  envyin'  last  night.  This 
is  a  new  brother,  worshipful  sir,  with  most  of  his  mileage 
ahead  of  him,  but  so  far  as  a  serving-brother  can,  I'll 
answer  for  him.' 

'  'Happy  to  meet  you,'  said  the  Purple  Emperor,  with 
a  glance  round  the  crowded  round-house.  'I  guess 
there  are  enough  of  us  here  to  form  a  full  meetin'. 
Ahem !  By  virtue  of  the  authority  vested  in  me  as  Head 
of  the  Road,  I  hereby  declare  and  pronounce  No.  '007 
a  full  and  accepted  Brother  of  the  Amalgamated 
Brotherhood  of  Locomotives,  and  as  such  entitled  to  all 
shop,  switch,  track,  tank,  and  round-house  privileges 
throughout  my  jurisdiction,  in  the  Degree  of  Superior 
Flier,  it  bein'  well  known  and  credibly  reported  to  me 
that  our  Brother  has  covered  forty-one  miles  in  thirty- 
nine  minutes  and  a  half  on  an  errand  of  mercy  to  the 
afflicted.  At  a  convenient  time,  I  myself  will  communi- 
cate to  you  the  Song  and  Signal  of  this  Degree  whereby 
you  may  be  recognised  in  the  darkest  night.  Take 
your  stall,  newly-entered  Brother  among  Locomotives!' 

229 


THE  DAY'S  \\  ORK 

Now,  in  the  darkest  night,  even  as  the  Purple  Em- 
peror said,  if  you  will  stand  on  the  bridge  across  the 
freight-yard,  looking  down  upon  the  four-track  way,  at 
2.30  a.  m.,  neither  before  nor  after,  when  the  \Yhite 
Moth,  that  takes  the  overflow  from  the  Purple  Emperor, 
tears  south  with  her  seven  vestibuled  cream-white  cars, 
you  will  hear,  as  the  yard-clock  makes  the  half-hour,  a 
far-away  sound  like  the  bass  of  a  violoncello,  and  then,  a 
hundred  feet  to  each  word : 

'With    a    michnai — ghignai — shtingal!      Yah!      Yah! 

Yah! 
Ein— zwei — drei— Mutter!     Yah!     Yah!     Yah! 

She  climb  upon  der  shteeple, 

Und  she  frighten  all  der  people, 
Singin'  michnai — ghignai — shtingal !    Yah !    Yah ! ' 

That  is  '007  covering  his  one  hundred  and  fifty-six  miles 
in  two  hundred  and  twenty-one  minutes. 


230 


THE  MALTESE  CAT 

(1895) 

THEY  had  good  reason  to  be  proud,  and  better 
reason  to  be  afraid,  all  twelve  of  them;  for, 
though  they  had  fought  their  way,  game  by 
game,  up  the  teams  entered  for  the  polo  tournament, 
they  were  meeting  the  Archangels  that  afternoon  in  the 
final  match;  and  the  Archangels'  men  were  playing  with 
half-a-dozen  ponies  apiece.  As  the  game  was  divided 
into  six  quarters  of  eight  minutes  each,  that  meant  a 
fresh  pony  after  every  halt.  The  Skidars'  team,  even 
supposing  there  were  no  accidents,  could  only  supply 
one  pony  for  every  other  change;  and  two  to  one  is 
heavy  odds.  Again,  as  Shiraz,  the  gray  Syrian,  pointed 
out,  they  were  meeting  the  pink  and  pick  of  the  polo- 
ponies  of  Upper  India;  ponies  that  had  cost  from  a 
thousand  rupees  each,  while  they  themselves  were  a 
cheap  lot  gathered,  often  from  country  carts,  by  their 
masters  who  belonged  to  a  poor  but  honest  native  in- 
fantry regiment. 

'Money  means  pace  and  weight,'  said  Shiraz,  rubbing 
his  black  silk  nose  dolefully  along  his  neat-fitting  boot, 
'  and  by  the  maxims  of  the  game  as  I  know  it — ' 

'Ah,  but  we  aren't  playing  the  maxims,'  said  the 
Maltese  Cat.  'We're  playing  the  game,  and  we've  the 
great  advantage  of  knowing  the  game.     Just  think  a 

231 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

stride,  Shiraz.  We've  pulled  up  from  bottom  to  second 
place  in  two  weeks  against  all  those  fellows  on  the 
ground  here;  and  that's  because  we  play  with  our  heads 
as  well  as  with  our  feet.' 

'It  makes  me  feel  undersized  and  unhappy  all  the 
same,'  said  Kittiwynk,  a  mouse-coloured  mare  with  a 
red  browband  and  the  cleanest  pair  of  legs  that  ever  an 
aged  pony  owned.  'They've  twice  our  size,  these 
others.' 

Kittiwynk  looked  at  the  gathering  and  sighed.  The 
hard,  dusty  Umballa  polo-ground  was  lined  with  thou- 
sands of  soldiers,  black  and  white,  not  counting  hundreds 
and  hundreds  of  carriages,  and  drags,  and  dog-carts,  and 
ladies  with  brilliant-coloured  parasols,  and  officers  in 
uniform  and  out  of  it,  and  crowds  of  natives  behind 
them;  and  orderlies  on  camels  who  had  halted  to  watch 
the  game,  instead  of  carrying  letters  up  and  down  the 
station,  and  native  horse-dealers  running  about  on  thin- 
eared  Biluchi  mares,  looking  for  a  chance  to  sell  a  few 
first-class  polo-ponies.  Then  there  were  the  ponies  of 
thirty  teams  that  had  entered  for  the  Upper  India  Free- 
for-All  Cup — nearly  every  pony  of  worth  and  dignity 
from  Mhow  to  Peshawar,  from  Allahabad  to  Multan; 
prize  ponies,  Arabs,  Syrian,  Barb,  country  bred,  Dec- 
canee,  W^aziri,  and  Kabul  ponies  of  every  colour  and 
shape  and  temper  that  you  could  imagine.  Some  of 
them  were  in  mat-roofed  stables  close  to  the  polo- 
ground,  but  most  were  under  saddle  while  their  masters, 
who  had  been  defeated  in  the  earlier  games,  trotted  in 
and  out  and  told  each  other  exactly  how  the  game  should 
be  played. 

It  was  a  glorious  sight,  and  the  come-and-go  of  the 
little  quick  hoofs,  and  the  incessant  salutations  of  ponies 

232 


THE  MALTESE  CAT 

that  had  met  before  on  other  polo-grounds  or  race- 
courses, were  enough  to  drive  a  four-footed  thing  wild. 

But  the  Skidars'  team  were  careful  not  to  know  their 
neighbours,  though  half  the  ponies  on  the  ground  were 
anxious  to  scrape  acquaintance  with  the  little  fellows 
that  had  come  from  the  North,  and,  so  far,  had  swept 
the  board. 

'Let's  see,'  said  a  soft,  golden-coloured  Arab,  who  had 
been  playing  very  badly  the  day  before,  to  the  Maltese 
Cat,  'didn't  we  meet  in  Abdul  Rahman's  stable  in  Bom- 
bay four  seasons  ago?  I  won  the  Paikpattan  Cup  next 
season,  you  may  remember.' 

'Not  me,'  said  the  Maltese  Cat  politely.  'I  was  at 
Malta  then,  pulling  a  vegetable  cart.  I  don't  race.  I 
play  the  game.' 

*  0-oh ! '  said  the  Arab,  cocking  his  tail  and  swaggering 
off. 

'Keep  yourselves  to  yourselves,'  said  the  Maltese  Cat 
to  his  companions.  'We  don't  want  to  rub  noses  with 
all  those  goose-rumped  half-breeds  of  Upper  India. 
When  we've  won  this  cup  they'll  give  their  shoes  to 
know  us.' 

'We  shan't  win  the  cup,'  said  Shiraz.  'How  do  you 
feel?' 

'Stale  as  last  night's  feed  when  a  musk-rat  has  run 
over  it,'  said  Polaris,  a  rather  heavy-shouldered  gray, 
and  the  rest  of  the  team  agreed  with  him. 

'The  sooner  you  forget  that  the  better,'  said  the  Mal- 
tese Cat  cheerfully.  'They've  finished  tiffin  in  the  big 
tent.  We  shall  be  wanted  now.  If  your  saddles  are 
not  comfy,  kick.  If  your  bits  aren't  easy,  rear,  and  let 
the  saises  know  whether  your  boots  are  tight.' 

Each  pony  had  his  sais,  his  groom,  who  lived  and  ate 

233 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

and  slept  with  the  pony,  and  had  betted  a  great  deal 
more  than  he  could  afford  on  the  result  of  the  game. 
There  was  no  chance  of  anythmg  going  wrong,  and,  to 
make  sure,  each  sais  was  shampooing  the  legs  of  his  pony 
to  the  last  minute.  Behind  the  saises  sat  as  many  of 
the  Skidars'  regiment  as  had  leave  to  attend  that  match 
— about  half  the  native  officers,  and  a  hundred  or  tw^o 
dark,  black-bearded  men  with  the  regimental  pipers 
nervously  fingering  the  big  be-ribboned  bagpipes.  The 
Skidars  were  what  they  call  a  Pioneer  regiment;  and 
the  bagpipes  made  the  national  music  of  half  the  men. 
The  native  officers  held  bundles  of  polo-sticks,  long 
cane-handled  mallets,  and  as  the  grand-stand  filled  after 
lunch  they  arranged  themselves  by  ones  and  twos  at 
different  points  round  the  ground,  so  that  if  a  stick  were 
broken  the  player  would  not  have  far  to  ride  for  a  new 
one.  An  impatient  British  cavalry  band  struck  up  'If 
you  want  to  know  the  time,  ask  a  p'leeceman!'  and  the 
two  umpires  in  light  dust-coats  danced  out  on  two  little 
excited  ponies.  The  four  players  of  the  Archangels' 
team  followed,  and  the  sight  of  their  beautiful  mounts 
made  Shiraz  groan  again. 

'Wait  till  we  know,'  said  the  Maltese  Cat.  'Two  of 
'em  are  playing  in  blinkers,  and  that  means  they  can't 
see  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  their  own  side,  or  they  may 
shy  at  the  umpires'  ponies.  They've  all  got  white  web 
reins  that  are  sure  to  stretch  or  slip ! ' 

'And,'  said  Kittiwynk,  dancing  to  take  the  stiffness 
out  of  her,  *  they  carry  their  whips  in  their  hands  instead 
of  on  their  wrists.     Hah ! ' 

'True  enough.  No  man  can  manage  his  stick  and  his 
reins,  and  his  whip  that  way,'  said  the  Maltese  Cat. 
'  I've  fallen  over  every  square  yard  of  the  Malta  ground, 

234 


THE  MALTESE  CAT 

and  I  ought  to  know.'  He  quivered  his  little  flea-bitten 
withers  just  to  show  how  satisfied  he  felt;  but  his  heart 
was  not  so  light.  Ever  since  he  had  drifted  into  India 
on  a  troopship,  taken,  with  an  old  rifle,  as  part  payment 
for  a  racing  debt,  the  Maltese  Cat  had  played  and 
preached  polo  to  the  Skidars'  team  on  the  Skidars'  stony 
polo-ground.  Now  a  polo-pony  is  like  a  poet.  If  he  is 
born  with  a  love  for  the  game  he  can  be  made.  The 
Maltese  Cat  knew  that  bamboos  grew  solely  in  order 
that  polo-balls  might  be  turned  from  their  roots,  that 
grain  was  given  to  ponies  to  keep  them  in  hard  condi- 
tion, and  that  ponies  were  shod  to  prevent  them  slipping 
on  a  turn.  But,  besides  all  these  things,  he  knew  every 
trick  and  device  of  the  finest  game  of  the  world,  and  for 
two  seasons  he  had  been  teaching  the  others  all  he  knew 
or  guessed. 

'Remember,'  he  said  for  the  hundredth  time  as  the 
riders  came  up,  'we  must  play  together,  and  you  must 
play  with  your  heads.  Whatever  happens,  follow  the 
ball.     Who  goes  out  first? ' 

Kittiwynk,  Shiraz,  Polaris,  and  a  short  high  little  bay 
fellow  with  tremendous  hocks  and  no  withers  worth 
speaking  of  (he  was  called  Corks)  were  being  girthed  up, 
and  the  soldiers  in  the  background  stared  with  all  their 
eyes. 

'I  want  you  men  to  keep  quiet,'  said  Lutyens,  the 
captain  of  the  team,  'and  especially  not  to  blow  your 
pipes.' 

'Not  if  we  win,  Captain  Sahib?'  asked  a  piper. 

*  If  we  win,  you  can  do  what  you  please,'  said  Lutyens, 
with  a  smile,  as  he  slipped  the  loop  of  his  stick  over  his 
wrist,  and  wheeled  to  canter  to  his  place.  The  Arch- 
angels' ponies  were  a  little  bit  above  themselves  on 

235 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

account  of  the  many-coloured  crowd  so  close  to  the 
ground.  Their  riders  were  excellent  players,  but  they 
were  a  team  of  crack  players  instead  of  a  crack  team; 
and  that  made  all  the  difference  in  the  world.  They 
honestly  meant  to  play  together,  but  it  is  very  hard  for 
four  men,  each  the  best  of  the  team  he  is  picked  from, 
to  remember  that  in  polo  no  brilliancy  of  hitting  or  rid- 
ing makes  up  for  playing  alone.  Their  captain  shouted 
his  orders  to  them  by  name,  and  it  is  a  curious  thing 
that  if  you  call  his  name  aloud  in  public  after  an  English- 
man you  make  him  hot  and  fretty.  Lutyens  said 
nothing  to  his  men  because  it  had  all  been  said  before. 
He  pulled  up  Shiraz,  for  he  was  playing  'back,'  to  guard 
the  goal.  Powell  on  Polaris  was  half-back,  and  Mac- 
namara  and  Hughes  on  Corks  and  Kittiwynk  were 
forwards.  The  tough  bamboo-root  ball  was  put  into 
the  middle  of  the  ground  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards 
from  the  ends,  and  Hughes  crossed  sticks,  heads-up, 
with  the  captain  of  the  Archangels,  who  saw  fit  to  play 
forward,  and  that  is  a  place  from  which  you  cannot 
easily  control  the  team.  The  little  click  as  the  cane- 
shafts  met  was  heard  all  over  the  ground,  and  then 
Hughes  made  some  sort  of  quick  wrist-stroke  that  just 
dribbled  the  ball  a  few  yards.  Kittiwynk  knew  that 
stroke  of  old,  and  followed  as  a  cat  follows  a  mouse. 
While  the  captain  of  the  Archangels  was  wrenching  his 
pony  round  Hughes  struck  with  all  his  strength,  and  next 
instant  Kittiwynk  was  away.  Corks  following  close  behind 
her,  their  little  feet  pattering  like  rain-drops  on  glass. 

*Pull  out  to  the  left,'  said  Kittiwynk  between  her 
teeth,  'it's  coming  our  way,  Corks!' 

The  back  and  half-back  of  the  Archangels  were  tearing 
down  on  her  just  as  she  was  within  reach  of  the  ball. 

236 


THE  MALTESE  CAT 

Hughes  leaned  forward  with  a  loose  rem,  and  cut  it 
away  to  the  left  almost  under  Kittiwynk's  feet,  and  it 
hopped  and  skipped  off  to  Corks,  who  saw  that,  if  he 
were  not  quick,  it  would  run  beyond  the  boundaries. 
That  long  bouncing  drive  gave  the  Archangels  time  to 
wheel  and  send  three  men  across  the  ground  to  head  off 
Corks.  Kittiwynk  stayed  where  she  was,  for  she  knew 
the  game.  Corks  was  on  the  ball  half  a  fraction  of  a 
second  before  the  others  came  up,  and  Macnamara, 
with  a  back-handed  stroke,  sent  it  back  across  the 
ground  to  Hughes,  who  saw  the  way  clear  to  the  Arch- 
angels' goal,  and  smacked  the  ball  in  before  any  one 
quite  knew  what  had  happened. 

'That's  luck,'  said  Corks,  as  they  changed  ends.  'A 
goal  in  three  minutes  for  three  hits  and  no  riding  to 
speak  of.' 

'Don't  know,'  said  Polaris.  'We've  made  'em  angry 
too  soon.  Shouldn't  wonder  if  they  try  to  rush  us  off 
our  feet  next  time.' 

'Keep  the  ball  hanging  then,'  said  Shiraz.  *That 
wears  out  every  pony  that  isn't  used  to  it.' 

Next  time  there  was  no  easy  galloping  across  the 
ground.  All  the  Archangels  closed  up  as  one  man,  but 
there  they  stayed,  for  Corks,  Kittiwynk,  and  Polaris 
were  somewhere  on  the  top  of  the  ball,  marking  time 
among  the  rattling  sticks,  while  Shiraz  circled  about 
outside,  waiting  for  a  chance. 

'We  can  do  this  all  day,'  said  Polaris,  ramming  his 
quarters  into  the  side  of  another  pony.  'Where  do  you 
think  you're  shoving  to? ' 

'I'll — I'll  be  driven  in  an  ekka  if  I  know,'  was  the 
gasping  reply,  'and  I'd  give  a  week's  feed  to  get  my 
blinkers  off.     I  can't  see  anything.' 

237 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'The  dust  is  rather  bad.  Whew!  That  was  one  for 
my  off  hock.     Where's  the  ball,  Corks? ' 

'  Under  my  tail.  At  least  a  man's  looking  for  it  there. 
This  is  beautiful.  They  can't  use  their  sticks,  and  it's 
driving  'em  wild.  Give  old  blinkers  a  push  and  he'll 
go  over ! ' 

'Here,  don't  touch  me!  I  can't  see.  I'll — I'll  back 
out,  I  think,'  said  the  pony  in  blinkers,  who  knew  that 
if  you  can't  see  all  round  your  head  you  cannot  prop 
yourself  against  a  shock. 

Corks  was  watching  the  ball  where  it  lay  in  the  dust 
close  to  his  near  fore,  with  Macnamara's  shortened  stick 
tap-tapping  it  from  time  to  time.  Kittiwynk  was  edg- 
ing her  way  out  of  the  scrimmage,  whisking  her  stump 
of  a  tail  with  nervous  excitement. 

'Ho!  They've  got  it,'  she  snorted.  'Let  me  out!' 
and  she  galloped  like  a  rifle-bullet  just  behind  a  tall 
lanky  pony  of  the  Archangels,  whose  rider  was  swinging 
up  his  stick  for  a  stroke. 

'Not  to-day,  thank  you,'  said  Hughes,  as  the  blow 
slid  off  his  raised  stick,  and  Kittiwynk  laid  her  shoulder 
to  the  tall  pony's  quarters,  and  shoved  him  aside  just  as 
Lutyens  on  Shiraz  sent  the  ball  where  it  had  come  from, 
and  the  tall  pony  went  skating  and  slipping  away  to  the 
left.  Kittiwynk,  seeing  that  Polaris  had  joined  Corks 
in  the  chase  for  the  ball  up  the  ground,  dropped  into 
Polaris's  place,  and  then  time  was  called. 

The  Skidars'  ponies  wasted  no  time  in  kicking  or 
fuming.  They  knew  each  minute's  rest  meant  so 
much  gain,  and  trotted  off  to  the  rails  and  their  saises, 
who  began  to  scrape  and  blanket  and  rub  them  at 
once. 

*  Whew  I'  said  Corks,  stiffening  up  to  get  all  the  tickle 

238 


11  IK  MALTESl^:  CiVl' 

out  of  the  big  vulcanite  scraper.  *If  we  were  playing 
pony  for  pony  we'd  bend  those  Archangels  double  in 
half  an  hour.  But  they'll  bring  out  fresh  ones  and 
fresh  ones,  and  fresh  ones  after  that— you  see.' 

'  Who  cares? '  said  Polaris.  '  We've  drawn  first  blood. 
Is  my  hock  swelling? ' 

'Looks  puffy,'  said  Corks.  'You  must  have  had 
rather  a  wipe.  Don't  let  it  stiffen.  You'll  be  wanted 
again  in  half  an  hour.' 

'What's  the  game  hke?'  said  the  Maltese  Cat. 

'  Ground's  like  your  shoe,  except  where  they've  put  too 
much  water  on  it,'  said  Kittiwynk.  'Then  it's  slippery. 
Don't  play  in  the  centre.  There's  a  bog  there.  I  don't 
know  how  their  next  four  are  going  to  behave,  but  we  kept 
the  ball  hanging  and  made  'em  lather  for  nothing.  Who 
goes  out?  Two  Arabs  and  a  couple  of  countrybreds ! 
That's  bad.  What  a  comfort  it  is  to  wash  your  mouth 
out!' 

Kitty  was  talking  with  the  neck  of  a  leather-covered 
soda-water  bottle  between  her  teeth  and  trying  to  look 
over  her  withers  at  the  same  time.  This  gave  her  a 
very  coquettish  air. 

'What's  bad?'  said  Gray  Dawn,  giving  to  the  girth 
and  admiring  his  well-set  shoulders. 

'You  Arabs  can't  gallop  fast  enough  to  keep  your- 
selves warm — that's  what  Kitty  means,'  said  Polaris, 
limping  to  show  that  his  hock  needed  attention.  'Are 
you  playing  "back,"  Gray  Dawn?' 

'Looks  like  it,'  said  Gray  Dawn,  as  Lutyens  swung 
himself  up.  Powell  mounted  the  Rabbit,  a  plain  bay 
countrybred  much  like  Corks,  but  with  mulish  ears. 
Macnamara  took  Faiz  UUah,  a  handy  short-backed  little 
red  Arab  with  a  long  tail,  and  Hughes  mounted  Ben- 

239 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

ami,  an  old  and  sullen  brown  beast,  who  stood  over  in 
front  more  than  a  polo-pony  should. 

'Benami  looks  like  business,'  said  Shiraz.  'How's 
your  temper,  Ben?'  The  old  campaigner  hobbled  off 
without  answering,  and  the  Maltese  Cat  looked  at  the 
new  Archangel  ponies  prancing  about  on  the  ground. 
They  were  four  beautiful  blacks,  and  they  saddled  big 
enough  and  strong  enough  to  eat  the  Skidars'  team  and 
gallop  away  with  the  meal  inside  them. 

'  Blinkers  again,'  said  the  Maltese  Cat. '  Good  enough ! ' 

'They're  chargers — cavalry  chargers!'  said  Kittiwynk 
indignantly.     'They'll  never  see  thirteen  three  again.' 

'They've  all  been  fairly  measured  and  they've  all 
got  their  certificates,'  said  the  Maltese  Cat,  'or  they 
wouldn't  be  here.  We  must  take  things  as  they  come 
along,  and  keep  our  eyes  on  the  ball.' 

The  game  began,  but  this  time  the  Skidars  were 
penned  to  their  own  end  of  the  ground,  and  the  watch- 
ing ponies  did  not  approve  of  that. 

'Faiz  Ullah  is  shirking  as  usual,'  said  Polaris,  with  a 
scornful  grunt. 

'Faiz  Ullah  is  eating  whip,'  said  Corks.  They  could 
hear  the  leather-thonged  polo-quirt  lacing  the  little 
fellow's  well-rounded  barrel.  Then  the  Rabbit's  shrill 
neigh  came  across  the  ground.  '  I  can't  do  all  the  work,' 
he  cried. 

'Play  the  game,  don't  talk,'  the  Maltese  Cat  whick- 
ered; and  all  the  ponies  wriggled  with  excitement,  and 
the  soldiers  and  the  grooms  gripped  the  railings  and 
shouted.  A  black  pony  with  blinkers  had  singled  out 
old  Benami,  and  was  interfering  with  him  in  every 
possible  way.  They  could  see  Benami  shaking  his  head 
up  and  down  and  flapping  his  underlip. 

240 


THE  MALTESE  CAT 

'  There'll  be  a  fall  in  a  minu te, '  said  Polaris.  '  Benami 
is  getting  stuffy.' 

The  game  flickered  up  and  down  between  goal-post 
and  goal-post,  and  the  black  ponies  were  getting  more 
confident  as  they  felt  they  had  the  legs  of  the  others. 
The  ball  was  hit  out  of  a  little  scrimmage,  and  Benami 
and  the  Rabbit  followed  it;  Faiz  Ullah  only  too  glad  to 
be  quiet  for  an  instant. 

The  blinkered  black  pony  came  up  like  a  hawk,  with 
two  of  his  own  side  behind  him,  and  Benami's  eye  glit- 
tered as  he  raced.  The  question  was  which  pony  should 
make  way  for  the  other;  each  rider  was  perfectly  willing 
to  risk  a  fall  in  a  good  cause.  The  black  who  had  been 
driven  nearly  crazy  by  his  blinkers  trusted  to  his  weight 
and  his  temper;  but  Benami  knew  how  to  apply  his 
weight  and  how  to  keep  his  temper.  They  met,  and 
there  was  a  cloud  of  dust.  The  black  was  lying  on  his 
side  with  all  the  breath  knocked  out  of  his  body.  The 
Rabbit  was  a  hundred  yards  up  the  ground  with  the 
ball,  and  Benami  was  sitting  down.  He  had  slid  nearly 
ten  yards,  but  he  had  had  his  revenge,  and  sat  cracking 
his  nostrils  till  the  black  pony  rose. 

'That's  what  you  get  for  interfering.  Do  you  want 
any  more?'  said  Benami,  and  he  plunged  into  the  game. 
Nothing  was  done  because  Faiz  Ullah  would  not  gallop, 
though  Macnamara  beat  him  whenever  he  could  spare  a 
second.  The  fall  of  the  black  pony  had  impressed  his 
companions  tremendously,  and  so  the  Archangels  could 
not  profit  by  Faiz  Ullah's  bad  behaviour. 

But  as  the  Maltese  Cat  said,  when  time  was  called 
and  the  four  came  back  blowing  and  dripping,  Faiz 
Ullah  ought  to  have  been  kicked  all  round  Umballa. 
If  he  did  not  behave  better  next  time,  the  Maltese  Cat 

241 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

promised  to  pull  out  his  Arab  tail  by  the  root  and  eat 
it. 

There  was  no  time  to  talk,  for  the  third  four  were 
ordered  out. 

The  third  quarter  of  a  game  is  generally  the  hottest, 
for  each  side  thinks  that  the  others  must  be  pumped; 
and  most  of  the  winning  play  in  a  game  is  made  about 
that  time. 

Lutyens  took  over  the  Maltese  Cat  with  a  pat  and  a 
hug,  for  Lutyens  valued  him  more  than  anything  else  in 
the  world.  Powell  had  Shikast,  a  little  gray  rat  with 
no  pedigree  and  no  manners  outside  polo;  Macnamara 
mounted  Bamboo,  the  largest  of  the  team,  and  Hughes 
took  Who's  Who,  alias  The  Animal.  He  was  supposed 
to  have  Australian  blood  in  his  veins,  but  he  looked  like 
a  clothes-horse,  and  you  could  whack  him  on  the  legs 
with  an  iron  crowbar  without  hurting  him. 

They  went  out  to  meet  the  very  flower  of  the  Arch- 
angels' team,  and  when  Who's  Who  saw  their  elegantly 
booted  legs  and  their  beautiful  satiny  skins  he  grinned  a 
grin  through  his  light,  well-worn  bridle. 

'My  word!'  said  Who's  Who.  'W^e  must  give  'em  a 
little  football.     Those  gentlemen  need  a  rubbing  down.' 

'No  biting,'  said  the  Maltese  Cat  warningly,  for  once 
or  twice  in  his  career  Who's  Who  had  been  known  to 
forget  himself  in  that  way. 

'Who  said  anything  about  biting?  I'm  not  playing 
tiddly-winks.     I'm  playing  the  game.' 

The  Archangels  came  down  like  a  wolf  on  the  fold,  for 
they  were  tired  of  football  and  they  wanted  polo.  They 
got  it  more  and  more.  Just  after  the  game  began, 
Lutyens  hit  a  ball  that  was  coming  towards  him  rapidly, 
and  it  rose  in  the  air,  as  a  ball  sometimes  will,  with  the 

242 


rHE  MALTESE  CAT 

whirr  of  a  frightened  partridge.  Shikast  heard,  but 
could  not  see  it  for  the  minute,  though  he  looked  every- 
where and  up  into  the  air  as  the  Maltese  Cat  had  taught 
him.  When  he  saw  it  ahead  and  overhead  he  went 
forward  with  Powell  as  fast  as  he  could  put  foot  to 
ground.  It  was  then  that  Powell,  a  quiet  and  level- 
headed man  as  a  rule,  became  inspired  and  played  a 
stroke  that  sometimes  comes  off  successfully  on  a  quiet 
afternoon  of  long  practice.  He  took  his  stick  in  both 
hands,  and  standing  up  in  his  stirrups,  swiped  at  the 
ball  in  the  air,  Munipore  fashion.  There  was  one  second 
of  paralysed  astonishment,  and  then  all  four  sides  of  the 
ground  went  up  in  a  yell  of  applause  and  delight  as  the 
ball  flew  true  (you  could  see  the  amazed  Archangels 
ducking  in  their  saddles  to  get  out  of  the  line  of  flight, 
and  looking  at  it  with  open  mouths),  and  the  regimental 
pipes  of  the  Skidars  squealed  from  the  railings  as  long  as 
the  piper  had  breath. 

Shikast  heard  the  stroke;  but  he  heard  the  head  of  the 
stick  fly  off  at  the  same  time.  Nine  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine  ponies  out  of  a  thousand  would  have  gone  tearing 
on  after  the  ball  with  a  useless  player  pulling  at  their 
heads,  but  Powell  knew  him,  and  he  knew  Powell;  and 
the  instant  he  felt  Powell's  right  leg  shift  a  trifle  on  the 
saddle-flap  he  headed  to  the  boundary,  where  a  native 
officer  was  frantically  waving  a  new  stick.  Before  the 
shouts  had  ended  Powell  was  armed  again. 

Once  before  in  his  life  the  Maltese  Cat  had  heard  that 
very  same  stroke  played  off  his  own  back,  and  had  prof- 
ited by  the  confusion  it  made.  This  time  he  acted  on 
experience,  and  leaving  Bamboo  to  guard  the  goal  in 
case  of  accidents,  came  through  the  others  like  a  flash, 
head  and  tail  low,  Lutyens  standing  up  to  ease  him — 

243 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

swept  on  and  on  before  the  other  side  knew  what  was 
the  matter,  and  nearly  pitched  on  his  head  between  the 
Archangels'  goal-posts  as  Lutyens  tipped  the  ball  in  after 
a  straight  scurry  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards.  If  there 
was  one  thing  more  than  another  upon  which  the  Mal- 
tese Cat  prided  himself  it  was  on  this  quick,  streaking 
kind  of  run  half  across  the  ground.  He  did  not  believe 
in  taking  balls  round  the  field  unless  you  were  clearly 
overmatched.  After  this  they  gave  the  Archangels 
five  minutes'  football,  and  an  expensive  fast  pony  hates 
football  because  it  rumples  his  temper. 

Who's  Who  showed  himself  even  better  than  Polaris 
in  this  game.  He  did  not  permit  any  wriggling  away, 
but  bored  joyfully  into  the  scrimmage  as  if  he  had  his 
nose  in  a  feed-box,  and  were  looking  for  something  nice. 
Little  Shikast  jumped  on  the  ball  the  minute  it  got 
clear,  and  every  time  an  Archangel  pony  followed  it  he 
found  Shikast  standing  over  it  asking  what  was  the 
matter. 

'If  we  can  live  through  this  quarter,'  said  the  Maltese 
Cat,  'I  shan't  care.  Don't  take  it  out  of  yourselves. 
Let  them  do  the  lathering.' 

So  the  ponies,  as  their  riders  explained  afterwards, 
'shut  up.'  The  Archangels  kept  them  tied  fast  in  front 
of  their  goal,  but  it  cost  the  Archangels'  ponies  all  that 
was  left  of  their  tempers;  and  ponies  began  to  kick,  and 
men  began  to  repeat  compliments,  and  they  chopped 
at  the  legs  of  Who's  Who,  and  he  set  his  teeth  and  stayed 
where  he  was,  and  the  dust  stood  up  like  a  tree  over  the 
scrimmage  till  that  hot  quarter  ended. 

They  found  the  ponies  very  excited  and  confident 
when  they  went  to  their  saises;  and  the  Maltese  Cat  had 
to  warn  them  that  the  worst  of  the  game  was  coming. 

244 


THE  MALTESE  CAT 

'Now  we  are  all  going  in  for  the  second  time,'  said  he, 
'and  they  are  trotting  out  fresh  ponies.  You'll  think 
you  can  gallop,  but  you'll  find  you  can't;  and  then  you'll 
be  sorry.' 

'But  two  goals  to  nothing  is  a  halter-long  lead,'  said 
Kittiwynk  prancing. 

'How  long  does  it  take  to  get  a  goal?'  the  Maltese 
Cat  answered.  'For  pity  sake,  don't  run  away  with 
the  notion  that  the  game  is  half-won  just  because  we 
happen  to  be  in  luck  now.  They'll  ride  you  into  the 
grand-stand  if  they  can ;  you  must  not  give  'em  a  chance. 
Follow  the  ball.' 

'  Football  as  usual? '  said  Polaris.  '  My  hock's  half  as 
big  as  a  nose-bag.' 

'Don't  let  them  have  a  look  at  the  ball  if  you  can  help 
it.  Now  leave  me  alone.  I  must  get  all  the  rest  I  can 
before  the  last  quarter.' 

He  hung  down  his  head  and  let  all  his  muscles  go  slack; 
Shikast,  Bamboo,  and  Who's  Who  copying  his  example. 

'Better  not  watch  the  game,'  he  said.  'We  aren't 
playing,  and  we  shall  only  take  it  out  of  ourselves  if  we 
grow  anxious.  Look  at  the  ground  and  pretend  it's  fly- 
time.' 

They  did  their  best,  but  it  was  hard  advice  to  follow. 
The  hoofs  were  drumming  and  the  sticks  were  rattling 
all  up  and  down  the  ground,  and  yells  of  applause  from 
the  English  troops  told  that  the  Archangels  were  press- 
ing the  Skidars  hard.  The  native  soldiers  behind  the 
ponies  groaned  and  grunted,  and  said  things  in  under- 
tones, and  presently  they  heard  a  long-drawn  shout  and 
a  clatter  of  hurrahs ! 

'  One  to  the  Archangels,'  said  Shikast,  without  raising 
his  head.     '  Time's  nearly  up.     Oh,  my  sire  and — dam ! ' 

245 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'Faiz  Ullah,'  said  the  Maltese  Cat,  'if  you  don't  play 
to  the  last  nail  in  your  shoes  this  time,  I'll  kick  you  on 
the  ground  before  all  the  other  ponies.' 

'I'll  do  my  best  when  my  time  comes,'  said  the  little 
Arab  sturdily. 

The  saises  looked  at  each  other  gravely  as  they  rubbed 
their  ponies'  legs.  This  was  the  first  time  when  long 
purses  began  to  tell,  and  everybody  knew  it.  Kitti- 
wynk  and  the  others  came  back  with  the  sweat  drip- 
ping over  their  hoofs  and  their  tails  telling  sad  stories. 

'They're  better  than  we  are,'  said  Shiraz.  'I  knew 
howit  would  be.' 

'Shut  your  big  head,'  said  the  Maltese  Cat;  'we've 
one  goal  to  the  good  yet.' 

'Yes,  but  it's  two  Arabs  and  two  countrybreds  to  play 
now,'  said  Corks.  'Faiz  Ullah,  remember!'  He  spoke 
in  a  biting  voice. 

As  Lutyens  mounted  Gray  Dawn  he  looked  at  his 
men,  and  they  did  not  look  pretty.  They  were  covered 
with  dust  and  sweat  in  streaks.  Their  yellow  boots 
were  almost  black,  their  wrists  were  red  and  lumpy,  and 
their  eyes  seemed  two  inches  deep  in  their  heads,  but 
the  expression  in  the  eyes  was  satisfactory. 

'Did  you  take  anything  at  tiffin?'  said  Lutyens,  and 
the  team  shook  their  heads.     They  were  too  dry  to  talk. 

'All  right.  The  Archangels  did.  They  are  worse 
pumped  than  we  are.' 

'They've  got  the  better  ponies,'  said  Powell.  'I 
shan't  be  sorry  when  this  business  is  over.' 

That  fifth  quarter  was  a  sad  one  in  every  way.  Faiz 
Ullah  played  like  a  little  red  demon;  and  the  Rabbit 
seemed  to  be  everywhere  at  once,  and  Benami  rode 
straight  at  anything  and  everything  that,  came  in  his 

246 


THE  MALTESE  CAT 

way,  while  the  umpires  on  their  ponies  wheeled  like  gulls 
outside  the  shifting  game.  But  the  Archangels  had  the 
better  mounts — they  had  kept  their  racers  till  late  in 
the  game — and  never  allowed  the  Skidars  to  play  foot- 
ball. They  hit  the  ball  up  and  down  the  width  of  the 
ground  till  Benami  and  the  res  I  were  outpaced.  Then 
they  went  forward,  and  time  and  again  Lutyens  and 
Gray  Dawn  were  just,  and  only  just,  able  to  send  the 
ball  away  with  a  long  splitting  backhander.  Gray 
Dawn  forgot  that  he  was  an  Arab;  and  turned  from 
gray  to  blue  as  he  galloped.  Indeed,  he  forgot  too  well, 
for  he  did  not  keep  his  eyes  on  the  ground  as  an  Arab 
should,  but  stuck  out  his  nose  and  scuttled  for  the  dear 
honour  of  the  game.  They  had  watered  the  ground 
once  or  twice  betw^een  the  quarters,  and  a  careless  water- 
man had  emptied  the  last  of  his  skinful  all  in  one  place 
near  the  Skidars'  goal.  It  was  close  to  the  end  of  play, 
and  for  the  tenth  time  Gray  Dawn  was  bolting  after  a 
ball  when  his  near  hind  foot  slipped  on  the  greasy  mud 
and  he  rolled  over  and  over,  pitching  Lutyens  just 
clear  of  the  goal-post;  and  the  triumphant  Archangels 
made  their  goal.  Then  time  was  called — two  goals  all; 
but  Lutyens  had  to  be  helped  up,  and  Gray  Dawn  rose 
with  his  near  hind  leg  strained  somewhere. 

'What's  the  damage?'  said  Powell,  his  arm  round 
Lutyens. 

'Collar-bone,  of  course,'  said  Lutyens  between  his 
teeth.  It  was  the  third  time  he  had  broken  it  in  two 
years,  and  it  hurt  him. 

Powell  and  the  others  whistled.  'Game's  up,'  said 
Hughes. 

'Hold  on.  We've  five  good  minutes  yet,  and  it  isn't 
my  right  hand,'  said  Lutyens.     '  We'll  stick  it  out.' 

247 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'I  say,'  said  the  captain  of  the  Archangels,  trotting 
up.  'Are  you  hurt,  Lutyens?  We'll  wait  if  you  care 
to  put  in  a  substitute.  I  wish — I  mean — the  fact  is, 
you  fellows  deserve  this  game  if  any  team  does.  Wish 
we  could  give  you  a  man  or  some  of  our  ponies — or 
something.' 

'You're  awfully  good,  but  we'll  play  to  a  finish,  I 
think.' 

The  captain  of  the  Archangels  stared  for  a  little. 
'That's  not  half  bad,'  he  said,  and  went  back  to  his  own 
side,  while  Lutyens  borrowed  a  scarf  from  one  of  his 
native  officers  and  made  a  sling  of  it.  Then  an  Arch- 
angel galloped  up  with  a  big  bath-sponge  and  advised 
Lutyens  to  put  it  under  his  arm-pit  to  ease  his  shoulder, 
and  between  them  they  tied  up  his  left  arm  scientifically, 
and  one  of  the  native  officers  leaped  forward  with  four 
long  glasses  that  fizzed  and  bubbled. 

The  team  looked  at  Lutyens  piteously,  and  he  nodded. 
It  was  the  last  quarter,  and  nothing  would  matter  after 
that.     They  drank  out  the  dark  golden  drink,  and  wiped" 
their  moustaches,  and  things  looked  more  hopeful. 

The  Maltese  Cat  had  put  his  nose  into  the  front  of 
Lutyens'  shirt,  and  was  trying  to  say  how  sorry  he  was. 

'He  knows,'  said  Lutyens,  proudly.  'The  beggar 
knows.  I've  played  him  without  a  bridle  before  now — 
for  fun.' 

'It's  no  fun  now,'  said  Powell.  'But  we  haven't  a 
decent  substitute.' 

'No,'  said  Lutyens.  'It's  the  last  quarter,  and  we've 
got  to  make  our  goal  and  win.     I'll  trust  the  Cat.' 

'If  you  fall  this  time  you'll  suffer  a  little,'  said  Mac- 
namara. 

'  I'll  trust  the  Cat,'  said  Lutyens. 

248 


THE  MALTESE  CAT 

*You  hear  that?'  said  the  Maltese  Cat  proudly  to  the 
others.  'It's  worth  while  playing  polo  for  ten  years  to 
have  that  said  of  you.  Now  then,  my  sons,  come  along. 
We'll  kick  up  a  little  bit,  just  to  show  the  Archangels 
this  team  haven't  suffered.' 

And,  sure  enough,  as  they  went  on  to  the  ground  the 
Maltese  Cat,  after  satisfying  himself  that  Lutyens  was 
home  in  the  saddle,  kicked  out  three  or  four  times,  and 
Lutyens  laughed.  The  reins  were  caught  up  anyhow 
in  the  tips  of  his  strapped  hand,  and  he  never  pretended 
to  rely  on  them.  He  knew  the  Cat  would  answer  to  the 
least  pressure  of  the  leg,  and  by  way  of  showing  off — 
for  his  shoulder  hurt  him  very  much — he  bent  the  little 
fellow  in  a  close  figure-of-eight  in  and  out  between  the 
goal-posts.  There  was  a  roar  from  the  native  officers  and 
men,  who  dearly  loved  a  piece  of  dugabashi  (horse-trick 
work),  as  they  called  it,  and  the  pipes  very  quietly  and 
scornfully  droned  out  the  first  bars  of  a  common  bazaar- 
tune  called  'Freshly  Fresh  and  Newly  New,'  just  as  a 
warning  to  the  other  regiments  that  the  Skidars  were  fit. 
All  the  natives  laughed. 

'And  now,'  said  the  Cat,  as  they  took  their  place,  're- 
member that  this  is  the  last  quarter,  and  follow  the  ball!' 

'Don't  need  to  be  told,'  said  Who's  Who. 

'Let  me  go  on.  All  those  people  on  all  four  sides  will 
begin  to  crowd  in — ^just  as  they  did  at  Malta.  You'll 
hear  people  calling  out,  and  moving  forward  and  being 
pushed  back,  and  that  is  going  to  make  the  Archangel 
ponies  very  unhappy.  But  if  a  ball  is  struck  to  the 
boundary,  you  go  after  it,  and  let  the  people  get  out  of 
your  way.  I  went  over  the  pole  of  a  four-in-hand  once, 
and  picked  a  game  out  of  the  dust  by  it.  Back  me  up 
when  I  run,  and  follow  the  ball.' 

249 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

There  was  a  sort  of  an  all-round  sound  of  sympathy 
and  wonder  as  the  last  quarter  opened,  and  then  there 
began  exactly  what  the  Maltese  Cat  had  foreseen. 
People  crowded  in  close  to  the  l^oundaries,  and  the 
Archangels'  ponies  kept  looking  sideways  at  the  narrow- 
ing space.  If  you  know  how  a  man  feels  to  be  cramped 
at  tennis — not  because  he  wants  to  run  out  of  the  court, 
but  because  he  likes  to  know  that  he  can  at  a  pinch — 
you  will  guess  how  ponies  must  feel  when  they  are 
playing  in  a  box  of  human  beings. 

'I'll  bend  some  of  those  men  if  I  can  get  away,'  said 
Who's  Who,  as  he  rocketed  behind  the  ball;  and  Bamboo 
nodded  without  speaking.  They  were  playing  the  last 
ounce  in  them,  and  the  Maltese  Cat  had  left  the  goal 
undefended  to  join  them.  Lutyens  gave  him  every 
order  that  he  could  to  bring  him  back,  but  this  was  the 
first  time  in  his  career  that  the  little  wise  gray  had  ever 
played  polo  on  his  own  responsibility,  and  he  was  going 
to  make  the  most  of  it. 

'What  are  you  doing  here?'  said  Hughes,  as  the  Cat 
crossed  in  front  of  him  and  rode  off  an  Archangel. 

'The  Cat's  in  charge — mind  the  goal!'  shouted  Lut- 
yens, and  bowing  forward  hit  the  ball  full,  and  followed 
on,  forcing  the  Archangels  towards  their  own  goal. 

'No  football,'  said  the  Cat.  'Keep  the  ball  by  the 
boundaries  and  cramp  'em.  Play  open  order  and  drive 
'em  to  the  boundaries.' 

Across  and  across  the  ground  in  big  diagonals  flew  the 
ball,  and  whenever  it  came  to  a  flying  rush  and  a  stroke 
close  to  the  boundaries  the  Archangel  ponies  moved 
stiffly.  They  did  not  care  to  go  headlong  at  a  wall  of 
men  and  carriages,  though  if  the  ground  had  been  open 
they  could  have  turned  on  a  sixpence. 

250 


THE  MALI  KSE  CA  T 

'Wriggle  her  up  the  sides,'  said  the  Cat.  'Keep  her 
close  to  the  crowd.  They  hate  the  carriages.  Shikast, 
keep  her  up  this  side.' 

Shikast  with  Powell  lay  left  and  right  behind  the  un- 
easy scuffle  of  an  open  scrimmage,  and  every  time  the 
ball  was  hit  away  Shikast  galloped  on  it  at  such  an 
angle  that  Powell  was  forced  to  hit  it  towards  the  boun- 
dary; and  when  the  crowd  had  been  driven  away  from 
that  side,  Lutyens  would  send  the  ball  over  to  the  other, 
and  Shikast  would  slide  desperately  after  it  till  his 
friends  came  down  to  help.  It  was  billiards,  and  no 
football,  this  time — billiards  in  a  corner  pocket;  and  the 
cues  were  not  well  chalked. 

'If  they  get  us  out  in  the  middle  of  the  ground  they'll 
walk  away  from  us.  Dribble  her  along  the  sides,'  cried 
the  Cat. 

So  they  dribbled  all  along  the  boundary,  where  a  pony 
could  not  come  on  their  right-hand  side;  and  the  Arch- 
angels were  furious,  and  the  umpires  had  to  neglect  the 
game  to  shout  at  the  people  to  get  back,  and  several 
blundering  mounted  policemen  tried  to  restore  order, 
all  close  to  the  scrimmage,  and  the  nerves  of  the  Arch- 
angels' ponies  stretched  and  broke  like  cobwebs. 

Five  or  six  times  an  Archangel  hit  the  ball  up  into  the 
middle  of  the  ground,  and  each  time  the  watchful 
Shikast  gave  Powell  his  chance  to  send  it  back,  and  after 
each  return,  when  the  dust  had  settled,  men  could  see 
that  the  Skidars  had  gained  a  few  yards. 

Every  now  and  again  there  were  shouts  of  ''Side! 
Off  side!'  from  the  spectators;  but  the  teams  were  too 
busy  to  care,  and  the  umpires  had  all  they  could  do  to 
keep  their  maddened  ponies  clear  of  the  scuffle. 

At  last  Lutyens  missed  a  short  easy  stroke,  and  the 

251 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

Skidars  had  to  fly  back  helter-skelter  to  protect  their 
own  goal,  Shikast  leading.  Powell  stopped  the  ball 
with  a  backhander  when  it  was  not  fifty  yards  from  the 
goal-posts,  and  Shikast  spun  round  with  a  wrench  that 
nearly  hoisted  Powell  out  of  his  saddle. 

'Now's  our  last  chance,'  said  the  Cat,  wheeling  like  a 
cock-chafer  on  a  pin.  '  We've  got  to  ride  it  out.  Come 
along.' 

Lutyens  felt  the  little  chap  take  a  deep  breath,  and,  as 
it  were,  crouch  under  his  rider.  The  ball  was  hopping 
towards  the  right-hand  boundary,  an  Archangel  riding 
for  it  with  both  spurs  and  a  whip;  but  neither  spur  nor 
whip  would  make  his  pony  stretch  himself  as  he  neared 
the  crowd.  The  Maltese  Cat  glided  under  his  very  nose, 
picking  up  his  hind  legs  sharp,  for  there  was  not  a  foot 
to  spare  between  his  quarters  and  the  other  pony's  bit. 
It  was  as  neat  an  exhibition  as  fancy  figure-skating. 
Lutyens  hit  with  all  the  strength  he  had  left,  but  the 
stick  slipped  a  little  in  his  hand,  and  the  ball  flew  off 
to  the  left  instead  of  keeping  close  to  the  boundary. 
Who's  Who  was  far  across  the  ground,  thinking  hard  as 
he  galloped.  He  repeated,  stride  for  stride,  the  Cat's 
manoeuvres  with  another  Archangel  pony,  nipping  the 
ball  away  from  under  his  bridle,  and  clearing  his  opponent 
by  half  a  fraction  of  an  inch,  for  Who's  Who  was  clumsy 
behind.  Then  he  drove  away  towards  the  right  as  the 
Maltese  Cat  came  up  from  the  left;  and  Bamboo  held  a 
middle  course  exactly  between  them.  The  three  were 
making  a  sort  of  Government-broad-arrow-shaped 
attack;  and  there  was  only  the  Archangels'  back  to 
guard  the  goal;  but  immediately  behind  them  were 
three  Archangels  racing  all  they  knew,  and  mixed  up 
with  them  was  Powell,  sending  Shikast  along  on  what 

252 


THE  MALTESE  CAT 

he  felt  was  their  last  hope.  It  takes  a  very  jgood  man 
to  stand  up  to  the  rush  of  seven  crazy  ponies  in  the  last 
quarters  of  a  cup  game,  when  men  are  riding  with  their 
necks  for  sale,  and  the  ponies  are  delirious.  The  Arch- 
angels' back  missed  his  stroke,  and  pulled  aside  just  in 
time  to  let  the  rush  go  by.  Bamboo  and  Who's  Who 
shortened  stride  to  give  the  Maltese  Cat  room,  and 
Lutyens  got  the  goal  with  a  clean,  smooth,  smacking 
stroke  that  was  heard  all  over  the  field.  But  there  was 
no  stopping  the  ponies.  They  poured  through  the  goal- 
posts in  one  mixed  mob,  winners  and  losers  together,  for 
the  pace  had  been  terrific.  The  Maltese  Cat  knew  by 
experience  what  would  happen,  and,  to  save  Lutyens, 
turned  to  the  right  with  one  last  effort  that  strained  a 
back-sinew  beyond  hope  of  repair.  As  he  did  so  he 
heard  the  right-hand  goal-post  crack  as  a  pony  can- 
noned into  it — crack,  splinter,  and  fall  like  a  mast.  It 
had  been  sawed  three  parts  through  in  case  of  accidents, 
but  it  upset  the  pony  nevertheless,  and  he  blundered 
into  another,  who  blundered  into  the  left-hand  post, 
and  then  there  was  confusion  and  dust  and  wood.  Bam- 
boo was  lying  on  the  ground,  seeing  stars;  an  Archangel 
pony  rolled  beside  him,  breathless  and  angry;  Shikast 
had  sat  down  dog-fashion  to  avoid  falling  over  the 
others,  and  was  sliding  along  on  his  little  bobtail  in  a 
cloud  of  dust;  and  Powell  was  sitting  on  the  ground, 
hammering  with  his  stick  and  trying  to  cheer.  All  the 
others  were  shouting  at  the  top  of  what  was  left  of  their 
voices,  and  the  men  who  had  been  spilt  were  shouting  too. 
As  soon  as  the  people  saw  no  one  was  hurt,  ten  thousand 
native  and  English  shouted  and  clapped  and  yelled,  and 
before  any  one  could  stop  them  the  pipers  of  the  Skidars 
broke  on  to  the  ground,  with  all  the  native  officers  and 

253 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

men  behind  them,  and  marched  up  and  down,  playing 
a  wild  northern  tune  called  'Zakhme  Bagan,'  and 
through  the  insolent  blaring  of  the  pipes  and  the  high- 
pitched  native  yells  you  could  hear  the  Archangels' 
band  hammering,  'For  they  are  all  jolly  good  fellows,' 
and  then  reproachfully  to  the  losing  team,  '  Ooh,  Kafoo- 
zalum !     Kaf  oozalum !     Kaf  oozalum ! ' 

Besides  all  these  things  and  many  more,  there  was  a 
Commander-in-Chief,  and  an  Inspector-General  of  Cav- 
alry, and  the  principal  veterinary  officer  in  all  India, 
standing  on  the  top  of  a  regimental  coach,  yelling  like 
schoolboys;  and  brigadiers  and  colonels  and  commis- 
sioners, and  hundreds  of  pretty  ladies  joined  the  chorus. 
But  the  Maltese  Cat  stood  with  his  head  down,  wonder- 
ing how  many  legs  were  left  to  him ;  and  Lutyens  watched 
the  men  and  ponies  pick  themselves  out  of  the  wreck  of 
the  two  goal-posts,  and  he  patted  the  Cat  very  tenderly. 

'I  say,'  said  the  captain  of  the  Archangels,  spitting 
a  pebble  out  of  his  mouth,  'will  you  take  three  thousand 
for  that  pony — as  he  stands?' 

'No,  thank  you.  I've  an  idea  he's  saved  my  life,' 
said  Lutyens,  getting  off  and  lying  down  at  full  length. 
Both  teams  were  on  the  ground  too,  waving  their  boots 
in  the  air,  and  coughing  and  drawing  deep  breaths,  as 
the  saises  ran  up  to  take  away  the  ponies,  and  an  ofTi- 
cious  water-carrier  sprinkled  the  players  with  dirty 
water  till  they  sat  up. 

*  My  Aunt ! '  said  Powell,  rubbing  his  back  and  looking 
at  the  stumps  of  the  goal-posts,  'that  w^as  a  game!' 

They  played  it  over  again,  every  stroke  of  it,  that 
night  at  the  big  dinner,  when  the  Free-for-All  Cup  was 
filled  and  passed  down  the  table,  and  emptied  and  filled 
again,  and  everybody  made  most  eloquent  speeches. 

254 


THE  MALTESE  CAT 

About  two  in  the  morning,  when  there  might  have  been 
some  singing,  a  wise  little,  plain  little,  gray  little  head 
looked  in  through  the  open  door. 

'Hurrah!  Bring  him  in,'  said  the  Archangels;  and 
his  sais,  who  was  very  happy  indeed,  patted  the  Maltese 
Cat  on  the  flank,  and  he  limped  into  the  blaze  of  light 
and  the  glittering  uniforms,  looking  for  Lutyens.  He 
was  used  to  messes,  and  men's  bedrooms,  and  places 
where  ponies  are  not  usually  encouraged,  and  in  his 
youth  had  jumped  on  and  off  a  mess-table  for  a  bet. 
So  he  behaved  himself  very  politely,  and  ate  bread 
dipped  in  salt,  and  was  petted  all  round  the  table,  mov- 
ing gingerly;  and  they  drank  his  health,  because  he  had 
done  more  to  win  the  Cup  than  any  man  or  horse  on  the 
ground. 

That  was  glory  and  honour  enough  for  the  rest  of  his 
days,  and  the  Maltese  Cat  did  not  complain  much  when 
his  veterinary  surgeon  said  that  he  would  be  no  good  for 
polo  any  more.  When  Lutyens  married,  his  wife  did 
not  allow  him  to  play,  so  he  was  forced  to  be  an  umpire; 
and  his  pony  on  these  occasions  was  a  flea-bitten  gray 
with  a  neat  polo-tail,  lame  all  round,  but  desperately 
quick  on  his  feet,  and,  as  everybody  knew,  Past  Pluper- 
fect Prestissimo  Player  of  the  Game. 


255 


'BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS' 
(1896) 

IF  you  remember  my  improper  friend  Brugglesmith, 
you  will  also  bear  in  mind  his  friend  McPhee,  Chief 
Engineer  of  the  'Breslau,'  whose  dingey  Bruggle- 
smith tried  to  steal.  His  apologies  for  the  performance 
of  Brugglesmith  may  one  day  be  told  in  their  proper 
place:  the  tale  before  us  concerns  McPhee.  He  was 
never  a  racing  engineer,  and  took  special  pride  in  saying 
as  much  before  the  Liverpool  men ;  but  he  had  a  thirty- 
two  years'  knowledge  of  machinery  and  the  humours  of 
ships.  One  side  of  his  face  had  been  wrecked  through 
the  bursting  of  a  water-gauge  in  the  days  when  men 
knew  less  than  they  do  now;  and  his  nose  rose  grandly 
out  of  the  wreck,  like  a  club  in  a  public  riot.  There 
were  cuts  and  lumps  on  his  head,  and  he  would  guide 
your  forefinger  through  his  short  iron-gray  hair  and  tell 
you  how  he  had  come  by  his  trade-marks.  He  owned 
all  sorts  of  certificates  of  extra-competency,  and  at  the 
bottom  of  his  cabin  chest  of  drawers,  where  he  kept  the 
photograph  of  his  wife,  were  two  or  three  Royal  Humane 
Society  medals  for  saving  lives  at  sea.  Professionally — 
it  was  different  when  crazy  steerage-passengers  jumped 
overboard — professionally,  McPhee  does  not  approve  of 
saving  life  at  sea,  and  he  has  often  told  me  that  a  new 
hell  is  awaiting  stokers  and  trimmers  who  sign  for  a 

256 


'BREAD  UPON  TIII^:  WATERS' 

strong  man's  pay  and  fall  sick  the  second  day  out.  He 
believes  in  throwing  boots  at  fourth  and  fifth  engineers 
when  they  wake  him  up  at  night  with  word  that  a  bear- 
ing is  red-hot,  all  because  a  lamp's  glare  is  reflected  red 
from  the  twirling  metal.  He  believes  that  there  are 
only  two  poets  in  the  world;  one  being  Robert  Burns,  of 
course,  and  the  other  Gerald  Massey.  When  he  has 
time  for  novels  he  reads  Wilkie  Collins  and  Charles 
Reade — chiefly  the  latter — and  knows  whole  pages  of 
'Hard  Cash'  by  heart.  In  the  saloon  his  table  is  next 
to  the  captain's,  and  he  drinks  only  water  while  his  en- 
gines work. 

He  was  good  to  me  when  we  first  met,  because  I  did 
not  ask  questions,  and  believed  in  Charles  Reade  as  a 
most  shamefully  neglected  author.  Later  he  approved 
of  my  writings  to  the  extent  of  one  pamphlet  of  twenty- 
four  pages  that  I  wrote  for  Holdock,  Steiner,  and  Chase, 
owners  of  the  line,  when  they  bought  some  ventilating 
patent  and  fitted  it  to  the  cabins  of  the  'Breslau,' 
'  Spandau,'  and  '  Koltzau.'  The  purser  of  the  '  Breslau ' 
recommended  me  to  Holdock's  secretary  for  the  job;  and 
Holdock,  who  is  a  Wesleyan  Methodist,  invited  me  to 
his  house,  and  gave  me  dinner  with  the  governess  when 
the  others  had  finished,  and  placed  the  plans  and  specifi- 
cations in  my  hand,  and  I  wrote  the  pamphlet  that  same 
afternoon.  It  was  called  'Comfort  in  the  Cabin,'  and 
brought  me  seven  pound  ten,  cash  down — an  important 
sum  of  money  in  those  days;  and  the  governess,  who  was 
teaching  Master  John  Holdock  his  scales,  told  me  that 
Mrs.  Holdock  had  told  her  to  keep  an  eye  on  me,  in  case 
I  went  away  with  coats  from  the  hat-rack.  McPhee 
liked  that  pamphlet  enormously,  for  it  was  composed  in 
the  Bouverie-Byzantine  style,  with  baroque  and  rococo 

257 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

embellishments;  and  afterward  he  introduced  me  to 
Mrs.  McPhee,  who  succeeded  Dinah  in  my  heart;  for 
Dinah  was  half  a  world  away,  and  it  is  wholesome  and 
antiseptic  to  love  such  a  w-oman  as  Janet  McPhee. 
They  lived  in  a  little  twelve-pound  house,  close  to  the 
shipping.  When  McPhee  was  away  Mrs.  McPhee  read 
the  Lloyd's  column  in  the  papers,  and  called  on  the 
wives  of  senior  engineers  of  equal  social  standing. 
Once  or  twice,  too,  Mrs.  Holdock  visited  Mrs.  McPhee 
in  a  brougham  with  celluloid  fittings,  and  I  have  reason 
to  believe  that,  after  she  had  played  owner's  wife  long 
enough,  they  talked  scandal.  The  Holdocks  lived  in 
an  old-fashioned  house  with  a  big  brick  garden  not  a 
mile  from  the  McPhees,  for  they  stayed  by  their  money 
as  their  money  stayed  by  them ;  and  in  summ.er  you  met 
their  brougham  solemnly  junketing  by  Theydon  Bois  or 
Loughton.  But  I  was  Mrs.  McPhee's  friend,  for  she 
allowed  me  to  convoy  her  westward,  sometimes,  to 
theatres,  where  she  sobbed  or  laughed  or  shivered  with 
a  simple  heart;  and  she  introduced  me  to  a  new  w^orld  of 
doctors'  wives,  captains'  wives,  and  engineers'  wives, 
whose  whole  talk  and  thought  centred  in  and  about 
ships  and  lines  of  ships  you  have  never  heard  of.  There 
were  sailing-ships,  with  stewards  and  mahogany  and 
maple  saloons,  trading  to  Australia,  taking  cargoes  of 
consumptives  and  hopeless  drunkards  for  whom  a  sea- 
voyage  was  recommended ;  there  were  f  rouzy  little  W^est 
African  boats,  full  of  rats  and  cockroaches,  w^here  men 
died  anywhere  but  in  their  bunks;  there  w^ere  Brazilian 
boats  whose  cabins  could  be  hired  for  merchandise  that 
went  out  loaded  nearly  awash ;  there  were  Zanzibar  and 
Mauritius  steamers,  and  wonderful  reconstructed  boats 
that  plied  to  the  other  side  of  Borneo.     These  were 

258 


'BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS' 

loved  and  known,  for  they  earned  our  bread  and  a  little 
butter,  and  we  despised  the  big  Atlantic  boats,  and  made 
fun  of  the  P.  and  0.  and  Orient  liners,  and  swore  by  our 
respected  owners — Wesleyan,  Baptist,  or  Presbyterian, 
as  the  case  might  be. 

I  had  only  just  come  back  to  England  when  Mrs. 
McPhee  invited  me  to  dinner  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  and  the  notepaper  was  almost  bridal  in  its 
scented  creaminess.  When  I  reached  the  house  I  saw 
that  there  w^ere  new  curtains  in  the  window  that  must 
have  cost  forty-five  shillings  a  pair;  and  as  Mrs.  Mc- 
Phee drew  me  into  the  little  marble-paper  hall,  she 
looked  at  me  keenly,  and  cried : 

'Have  ye  not  heard?  W^hat  d'ye  think  o'  the  hat- 
rack?' 

Now,  that  hat-rack  was  oak — thirty  shillings  at  least. 
McPhee  came  downstairs  with  a  sober  foot— he  steps  as 
lightly  as  a  cat,  for  all  his  weight,  when  he  is  at  sea — and 
shook  hands  in  a  new  and  awful  manner — a  parody  of 
old  Holdock's  style  when  he  says  good-bye  to  his  skip- 
pers. I  perceived  at  once  that  a  legacy  had  come  to 
him,  but  I  held  my  peace,  though  Mrs.  McPhee  begged 
me  every  thirty  seconds  to  eat  a  great  deal  and  say 
nothing.  It  was  rather  a  mad  sort  of  meal,  because 
McPhee  and  his  wife  took  hold  of  hands  like  little  chil- 
dren (they  always  do  after  voyages),  and  nodded  and 
winked  and  choked  and  gurgled,  and  hardly  ate  a 
mouthful. 

A  female  servant  came  in  and  waited;  though  Mrs. 
McPhee  had  told  me  time  and  again  that  she  would 
thank  no  one  to  do  her  housework  while  she  had  her 
health.  But  this  was  a  servant  with  a  cap,  and  I  saw 
Mrs.  McPhee  swell  and  swell  under  her  garance-coloured 

259 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

gown.  There  is  no  small  free-board  to  Janet  McPhee, 
nor  is  garance  any  subdued  tint;  and  with  all  this  un- 
explained pride  and  glory  in  the  air  I  felt  like  watch- 
ing fireworks  without  knowing  the  festival.  When  the 
maid  had  removed  the  cloth  she  brought  a  pineapple 
that  would  have  cost  half  a  guinea  at  that  season  (only 
McPhee  has  his  own  way  of  getting  such  things),  and  a 
Canton  china  bowl  of  dried  lichis,  and  a  glass  plate  of 
preserved  ginger,  and  a  small  jar  of  sacred  and  imperial 
chow-chow  that  perfumed  the  room.  McPhee  gets  it 
from  a  Dutchman  in  Java,  and  I  think  he  doctors  it 
with  liqueurs.  But  the  crown  of  the  feast  w^as  some 
Madeira  of  the  kind  you  can  only  come  by  if  you  know 
the  wine  and  the  man.  A  little  maize-wrapped  fig  of 
clotted  Madeira  cigars  went  with  the  wine,  and  the  rest 
was  a  pale-blue  smoky  silence;  Janet,  in  her  splendour, 
smiling  on  us  two,  and  patting  McPhee's  hand. 

'We'll  drink,' said  McPhee  slowly,  rubbing  his  chin,  'to 
the  eternal  damnation  o'  Holdock,  Steiner,  and  Chase.' 

Of  course  I  answered  'Amen,'  though  I  had  made 
seven  pound  ten  shillings  out  of  the  firm.  McPhee's 
enemies  were  mine,  and  I  was  drinking  his  Madeira. 

'  Ye've  heard  nothing?'  said  Janet.  'Not  a  word,  not 
a  whisper? ' 

'Not  a  word,  nor  a  whisper.  On  my  word,  I  have 
not.' 

'Tell  him,  Mac,'  said  she;  and  that  is  another  proof  of 
Janet's  goodness  and  wifely  love.  A  smaller  woman 
would  have  babbled  first,  but  Janet  is  five  feet  nine  in 
her  stockings. 

'We're  rich,'  said  McPhee.     I  shook  hands  all  round. 

*  We're  damned  rich,'  he  added.  I  shook  hands  all 
round  a  second  time. 

260 


'BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS' 

'I'll  go  to  sea  no  more — unless — there's  no  sayin' — a 
private  yacht,  maybe — wi'  a  small  an'  handy  auxiliary.' 

'It's  not  enough  for  that,'  said  Janet.  'We're  fair 
rich — well-to-do,  but  no  more.  A  new  gown  for  church, 
and  one  for  the  theatre.     We'll  have  it  made  west.' 

'How  much  is  it?'  I  asked. 

'Twenty-five  thousand  pounds.'  I  drew  a  long 
breath.  'An'  I've  been  earnin'  twenty-five  an'  twenty 
pound  a  month!'  The  last  words  came  away  with  a 
roar,  as  though  the  wide  world  was  conspiring  to  beat 
him  down. 

'All  this  time  I'm  waiting,'  I  said.  'I  know  nothing 
since  last  September.     W^as  it  left  you? ' 

They  laughed  aloud  together.  'It  was  left,'  said 
McPhee,  choking.  'Ou,  ay,  it  was  left.  That's  vara 
good.  Of  course  it  was  left.  Janet,  d'ye  note  that? 
It  was  left.  Now  if  you'd  put  that  in  your  pamphlet  it 
would  have  been  vara  jocose.  It  was  left.'  He  slapped 
his  thigh  and  roared  till  the  wine  quivered  in  the  de- 
canter. 

The  Scotch  are  a  great  people,  but  they  are  apt  to 
hang  over  a  joke  too  long,  particularly  when  no  one  can 
see  the  point  but  themselves. 

'When  I  rewrite  my  pamphlet  I'll  put  it  in,  McPhee. 
Only  I  must  know  something  more  first.' 

McPhee  thought  for  the  length  of  half  a  cigar,  while 
Janet  caught  my  eye  and  led  it  round  the  room  to  one 
new  thing  after  another — the  new  vine-pattern  carpet, 
the  new  chiming  rustic  clock  between  the  models  of  the 
Colombo  outrigger-boats,  the  new  inlaid  sideboard  with 
a  purple  cut-glass  flower-stand,  the  fender  of  gilt  and 
brass,  and  last,  the  new  black-and-gold  piano. 

*In  October  o'  last  year  the  Board  sacked  me,'  began 

261 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

McPhee.  'In  October  o'  last  year  the  "Breslau"  came 
in  for  winter  overhaul.  She'd  been  runnin'  eight 
months — two  hunder  an'  forty  days — an'  I  was  three 
days  makin'  up  my  indents,  when  she  went  to  dry-dock. 
All  told,  mark  you,  it  was  this  side  o'  three  hunder 
pound — to  be  preceese,  two  hunder  an'  eighty-six 
pound  four  shillings.  There's  not  another  man  could 
ha'  nursed  the  "Breslau"  for  eight  months  to  that  tune. 
Never  again — never  again !  They  may  send  their  boats 
to  the  bottom,  for  aught  I  care.' 

'There's  no  need,'  said  Janet  softly.     'We're  done  wi' 
Holdock,  Steiner,  and  Chase.' 

'It's  irritatin',  Janet,  it's  just  irritatin'.  I  ha'  been 
justified  from  first  to  last,  as  the  world  knows,  but — but 
I  canna'  forgie  'em.  Ay,  wisdom  is  justified  o'  her 
children ;  an'  any  other  man  than  me  wad  ha'  made  the 
indent  eight  hunder.  Hay  was  our  skipper — ^ye'll  have 
met  him.  They  shifted  him  to  the  "Torgau,"  an'  bade 
me  wait  for  the  "Breslau"  under  young  Bannister. 
Ye'll  obsairve  there'd  been  a  new  election  on  the  Board. 
I  heard  the  shares  were  sellin'  hither  an'  yon,  an'  the 
major  part  of  the  Board  was  new  to  me.  The  old 
Board  would  ne'er  ha'  done  it.  They  trusted  me. 
But  the  new  Board  was  all  for  reorganisation.  Young 
Steiner — Steiner' s  son — the  Jew,  was  at  the  bottom  of 
it,  an'  they  did  not  think  it  worth  their  while  to  send 
me  word.  The  first  I  knew — an'  I  was  Chief  Engineer 
— was  the  notice  of  the  line's  winter  sailin's,  and  the 
"Breslau"  timed  for  sixteen  days  between  port  an' 
port!  Sixteen  days,  man!  She's  a  good  boat,  but 
eighteen  is  her  summer  time,  mark  you.  Sixteen  was 
sheer,  flytin',  kitin'  nonsense,  an'  so  I  told  young  Ban- 
nister. 

262 


'BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS' 

'"We've  got  to  make  it,"  he  said.  "Ye  should  not 
ha'  sent  in  a  three-hunder-pound  indent." 

'"Do  they  look  for  their  boats  to  be  run  on  air?"  I 
said.     "The  Board  is  daft." 

'  "E'en  tell  'em  so,"  he  says.  "I'm  a  married  man, 
an'  my  fourth's  on  the  ways  now,  she  says." ' 

'A  boy — wi'  red  hair,'  Janet  put  in.  Her  own  hair  is 
the  splendid  red-gold  that  goes  with  a  creamy  complex- 
ion. 

'My  word,  I  was  an  angry  man  that  day!  Forbye  I 
was  fond  o'  the  old  "Breslau,"  I  look  for  a  little  con- 
sideration from  the  Board  after  twenty  years'  service. 
There  was  Board  meetin'  on  Wednesday;  an'  I  sat  over- 
night in  the  engine-room,  takin'  figures  to  support  my 
case.  Well,  I  put  it  fair  and  square  before  them  all. 
"Gentlemen,"  I  said,  "I've  run  the  'Breslau'  eight 
seasons,  an'  I  believe  there's  no  fault  to  find  wi'  my 
wark.  But  if  ye  baud  to  this" — I  waggled  the  adver- 
tisement at  'em — "this  that  I've  never  heard  of  till  I 
read  it  at  breakfast,  I  do  assure  you  on  my  professional 
reputation,  she  can  never  do  it.  That  is  to  say,  she  can 
for  a  while,  but  at  a  risk  no  thinkin'  man  would  run." 

'  "What  the  deil  d'ye  suppose  we  pass  your  indent 
for?"  says  old  Holdock.  "Man,  we're  spendin'  money 
like  watter." 

'  "I'll  leave  it  in  the  Board's  hands,"  I  said,  "if  two 
hunder  an'  eighty-seven  pound  is  anything  beyond  right 
and  reason  for  eight  months."  I  might  ha'  saved  my 
breath,  for  the  Board  was  new  since  the  last  election, 
an'  there  they  sat,  the  damned  deevidend-huntin'  ship- 
chandlers,  deaf  as  the  adders  o'  Scripture. 

'  "We  must  keep  faith  wi'  the  public,"  said  young 
Steiner. 

263 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'  "Keep  faith  wi'  the  'Breslau'  then,"  I  said.  "She's 
served  you  well,  an'  your  father  before  you.  She'll 
need  her  bottom  restilTenin',  an'  new  bed-plates,  an' 
turnin'  out  the  forward  boilers,  an'  re-borin'  all  three 
cylinders,  an'  refacin'  all  guides,  to  begin  with.  It's  a 
three  months'  job." 

'  "Because  one  employee  is  afraid?"  says  young 
Steiner.  "Maybe  a  piano  in  the  Chief  Engineer's  cabin 
would  be  more  to  the  point." 

'I  crushed  my  cap  in  my  hands,  an'  thanked  God 
we'd  no  bairns  an'  a  bit  put  by. 

*  "Understand,  gentlemen,"  I  said.  "If  the  'Bres- 
lau' is  made  a  sixteen-day  boat,  ye'll  find  another  en- 
gineer." 

'  "Bannister  makes  no  objection,"  said  Holdock. 

'  "I'm  speakin'  for  myself,"  I  said.  "Bannister  has 
bairns."  An'  then  I  lost  my  temper.  "Ye  can  run  her 
into  Hell  an'  out  again  if  ye  pay  pilotage,"  I  said,  "but 
ye  run  without  me." 

'  "That's  insolence,"  said  young  Steiner. 

'  "At  your  pleasure,"  I  said,  turnin'  to  go. 

'  "Ye  can  consider  yourself  dismissed.  We  must 
preserve  discipline  among  our  employees,"  said  old 
Holdock,  an'  he  looked  round  to  see  that  the  Board  was 
with  him.  They  knew  nothin' — God  forgie  'em — an' 
they  nodded  me  out  o'  the  Line  after  twenty  years — 
after  twenty  years. 

'  I  went  out  an'  sat  down  by  the  hall  porter  to  get  my 
wits  again.  I'm  thinkin'  I  swore  at  the  Board.  Then 
auld  McRimmon — o'  McNaughton  and  McRimmon — 
came  oot  o'  his  office,  that's  on  the  same  floor,  an'  looked 
at  me,  proppin'  up  one  eyelid  wi'  his  forefinger.  Ye  know 
they  call  him  the  Blind  Deevil,  forbye  he's  onythin'  but 

264 


'BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS' 

blind,  an'  no  deevil  in  his  dealin's  wi'  me — McRimmon 
o'  the  Black  Bird  Line. 

'  "What's  here,  Mister  McPhee?"  said  he. 

*I  was  past  prayin'  for  by  then.  "A  Chief  Engineer 
sacked  after  twenty  years'  service  because  he'll  not  risk 
the  'Breslau'  on  the  new  timin',  an'  be  damned  to  ye, 
McRimmon,"  I  said. 

'The  auld  man  sucked  in  his  lips  an'  whistled.  "Ah,'* 
said  he,  "the  new  timin'.  I  see!"  He  doddered  into 
the  Board-room  I'd  just  left,  an'  the  Dandie-dog  that  is 
just  his  blind  man's  leader  stayed  wi'  me.  That  was 
providential.  In  a  minute  he  was  back  again.  "Ye've 
cast  your  bread  on  the  watter,  McPhee,  an'  be  damned 
to  you,"  he  says.  "  Whaur's  my  dog?  My  word,  is  he 
on  your  knee?  There's  more  discernment  in  a  dog  than 
a  Jew.  What  garred  ye  curse  your  Board,  McPhee? 
It's  expensive." 

'  "They'll  pay  more  for  the  'Breslau,'"  I  said.  "Get 
off  my  knee,  ye  smotherin'  beastie." 

'  "Bearin's  hot,  eh?"  said  McRimmon.  "It's  thirty 
year  since  a  man  daur  curse  me  to  my  face.  Time  was 
I'd  ha'  cast  ye  doon  the  stairway  for  that." 

'  "Forgie's  all!"  I  said.  He  was  wearin'  to  eighty,  as 
I  knew.  " I  was  wrong,  McRimmon;  but  when  a  man's 
shown  the  door  for  doin'  his  plain  duty  he's  not  always 
ceevil." 

'  "So  I  hear,"  says  McRimmon.  "Ha'  ye  ony  ob- 
jection to  a  tramp  freighter?  It's  only  fifteen  a  month, 
but  they  say  the  Blind  Deevil  feeds  a  man  better  than 
others.  She's  my  'Kite.'  Come  ben.  Ye  can  thank 
Dandie,  here.  I'm  no  used  to  thanks.  An'  noo,"  says 
he,  "what  possessed  ye  to  throw  up  your  berth  wi* 
Holdock?" 

265 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'  "The  new  timin',"  said  I.  "The  'Breslau'  will  not 
stand  it." 

'  "Hoot,  oot,"  said  he.  "Ye  might  ha'  crammed  her 
a  little — enough  to  show  ye  were  drivin'  her — an' 
brought  her  in  tw^a  days  behind.  What's  easier  than  to 
say  ye  slowed  for  bearin's,  eh?  All  my  men  do  it,  and — 
I  believe  'em." 

'  "McRimmon,"  says  I,  "what's  her  virginity  to  a 
lassie?" 

'He  puckered  his  dry  face  an'  twisted  in  his  chair. 
"The  warld  an'  a',"  says  he.  "My  God,  the  vara  warld 
an'  a' !  But  what  ha'  you  or  me  to  do  wi'  virginity,  this 
late  along?" 

'  "This,"  I  said.  "There's  just  one  thing  that  each 
one  of  us  in  his  trade  or  profession  wdll  not  do  for  ony 
consideration  whatever.  If  I  run  to  time  I  run  to  time, 
barrin'  always  the  risks  o'  the  high  seas.  Less  than 
that,  under  God,  I  have  not  done.  More  than  that,  by 
God,  I  wall  not  do!  There's  no  trick  o'  the  trade  I'm 
not  acquaint  wi' — " 

'  "So  I've  heard,"  says  McRimmon,  dry  as  a  biscuit. 

'  "But  yon  matter  o'  fair  runnin'  's  just  my  Shekinah, 
ye'll  understand.  I  daurna  tamper  wi'  that.  Nursing 
weak  engines  is  fair  craftsmanship ;  but  what  the  Board 
ask  is  cheatin',  wi'  the  risk  o'  manslaughter  addeetional. 
Ye'll  note  I  know  my  business." 

'There  was  some  more  talk,  an'  next  week  I  went 
aboard  the  "Kite,"  twenty-five  hunder  ton,  ordinary 
compound,  a  Black  Bird  tramp.  The  deeper  she  rode, 
the  better  she'd  steam.  I've  snapped  as  much  as  nine 
out  of  her,  but  eight  point  three  was  her  fair  normal. 
Good  food  forward  an'  better  aft,  all  indents  passed 
wi'  out  marginal  remarks,  the  best  coal,  new  donkeys,  and 

266 


'BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS' 

good  crews.  There  was  nothin'  the  old  man  would  not 
do,  except  paint.  That  was  his  deeficulty.  Ye  could 
no  more  draw  paint  than  his  last  teeth  from  him.  He'd 
come  down  to  dock,  an'  his  boats  a  scandal  all  along  the 
watter,  an'  he'd  whine  an'  cry  an'  say  they  looked  all  he 
could  desire.  Every  owner  has  his  non  plus  ultra,  I've 
obsairved.  Paint  was  McRimmon's.  But  you  could 
get  round  his  engines  without  riskin'  your  life,  an',  for 
all  his  blindness,  I've  seen  him  reject  five  flawed  inter- 
mediates, one  after  the  other,  on  a  nod  from  me;  an'  his 
cattle-fittin's  were  guaranteed  for  North  Atlantic  winter 
weather.  Ye  ken  what  that  means?  McRimmon  an' 
the  Black  Bird  Line,  God  bless  him! 

'Oh,  I  forgot  to  say  she  would  lie  down  an'  fill  her 
forward  deck  green,  an'  snore  away  into  a  twenty-knot 
gale  forty-five  to  the  minute,  three  an'  a  half  knots  an 
hour,  the  engines  runnin'  sweet  an'  true  as  a  bairn 
breathin'  in  its  sleep.  Bell  was  skipper;  an'  forbye 
there's  no  love  lost  between  crews  an'  owners,  we  were 
fond  o'  the  auld  Blind  Deevil  an'  his  dog,  an'  I'm  think- 
in'  he  liked  us.  He  was  worth  the  windy  side  o'  twa 
million  sterlin',  an'  no  friend  to  his  own  blood-kin. 
Money's  an  awfu'  thing — overmuch — for  a  lonely  man. 

'I'd  taken  her  out  twice,  there  an'  back  again,  when 
word  came  o'  the  "Breslau's"  breakdown,  just  as  I 
prophesied.  Calder  was  her  engineer — he's  not  fit  to 
run  a  tug  down  the  Solent — and  he  fairly  lifted  the  en- 
gines off  the  bed-plates,  an'  they  fell  down  in  heaps,  by 
what  I  heard.  So  she  filled  from  the  after-stuffin'-box 
to  the  after-bulkhead,  an'  lay  star-gazing,  with  seventy- 
nine  squealin'  passengers  in  the  saloon,  till  the  "Camar- 
alzaman"  o'  Ramsey  and  Gold's  Carthagena  Line  gave 
her  a  tow  to  the  tune  o'  five  thousand  seven  hunder  an' 

267 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

forty  pound,  wi'  costs  in  the  Admiralty  Court.  She 
was  helpless,  ye'll  understand,  an'  in  no  case  to  meet 
ony  weather.  Five  thousand  seven  hunder  an'  forty 
pounds,  with  costs,  an'  exclusive  o'  new  engines!  They 
ha'  done  better  to  ha'  kept  me — on  the  old  timin'. 

'But,  even  so,  the  new  Board  were  all  for  retrenchment. 
Young  Steiner,  the  Jew,  was  at  the  bottom  of  it.  They 
sacked  men  right  an'  left  that  would  not  eat  the  dirt  the 
Board  gave  'em.  They  cut  down  repairs;  they  fed 
crews  wi'  leavin's  and  scrapin's;  and,  reversin'  McRim- 
mon's  practice,  they  hid  their  defeeciencies  wd'  paint  an' 
cheap  gildin'.  "Quem  Deus  vult  perrdere  prrius  de- 
mentat,"  ye  remember. 

'In  January  we  went  to  dry-dock,  an'  in  the  next 
dock  lay  the  "Grotkau,"  their  big  freighter  that  was 
the  "Dolabella"  o'  Piegan,  Piegan,  and  Walsh's  Line 
in  '84 — a  Clyde-built  iron  boat,  a  flat-bottomed,  pigeon- 
breasted,  under-engined,  bull-nosed  bitch  of  a  five- 
thousand-ton  freighter,  that  would  neither  steer,  nor 
steam,  nor  stop  when  ye  asked  her.  Whiles  she'd  at- 
tend to  her  helm,  whiles  she'd  take  charge,  whiles  she'd 
wait  to  scratch  herself,  an'  whiles  she'd  buttock  into  a 
dock-head.  But  Holdock  and  Steiner  had  bought  her 
cheap,  and  painted  her  all  over  like  the  Hoor  o'  Babylon, 
an'  we  called  her  the  "Hoor"  for  short.'  (By  the  way, 
McPhee  kept  to  that  name  throughout  the  rest  of  his 
tale;  so  you  must  read  accordingly.)  'I  went  to  see 
young  Bannister — he  had  to  take  what  the  Board  gave 
him,  an'  he  an'  Calder  were  shifted  together  from  the 
"Breslau"  to  this  abortion — an'  talkin'  to' him  I  went 
into  the  dock  under  her.  Her  plates  were  pitted  till  the 
men  that  were  paint,  paint,  paintin'  her  laughed  at  it. 
But  the  warst  was  at  the  last.     She'd  a  great  clumsy 

268 


'BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS' 

iron  nineLeen-fool  Thresher  propeller^ — Aitcheson  de- 
signed the  "Kite's" — and  just  on  the  tail  o'  the  shaft, 
before  the  boss,  was  a  red  weepin'  crack  ye  could  ha'  put 
a  penknife  to.     Man,  it  was  an  awful  crack! 

'  "When  d'ye  ship  a  new  tail-shaft?"  I  said  to  Ban- 
nister. 

'He  knew  what  I  meant.  "Oh,  yon's  a  superfeecial 
flaw,"  says  he,  not  lookin'  at  me. 

'  "Superfeecial  Gehenna!"  I  said.  "Ye'll  not  take 
her  oot  wi'  a  solution  o'  continuity  that  like." 

'  "They'll  putty  it  up  this  evening,"  he  said.  "I'm 
a  married  man,  an' — ye  used  to  know  the  Board." 

'  I  e'en  said  what  was  gie'd  me  in  that  hour.  Ye  know 
how  a  dry-dock  echoes.  I  saw  young  Steiner  standin' 
listenin'  above  me,  an',  man,  he  used  language  provoca- 
tive of  a  breach  o'  the  peace.  I  was  a  spy  and  a  dis- 
graced employee,  an'  a  corrupter  o'  young  Bannister's 
morals,  an'  he'd  persecute  me  for  libel.  He  went  away 
when  I  ran  up  the  steps — I'd  ha'  thrown  him  into  the 
dock  if  I'd  caught  him^ — an'  there  I  met  McRimmon, 
wi'  Dandie  pullin'  on  the  chain,  guidin'  the  auld  man 
among  the  railway  lines. 

'  "McPhee,"  said  he,  "ye're  no  paid  to  fight  Holdock, 
Steiner,  Chase,  and  Company,  Limited,  when  ye  meet. 
What's  wrong  between  you?  " 

*  "No  more  than  a  tail-shaft  rotten  as  a  kail-stump. 
For  ony  sakes  go  and  look,  McRimmon.  It's  a  come- 
dietta." 

'  "I'm  feared  o'  yon  conversational  Hebrew,"  said  he. 
"  Whaur's  the  flaw,  an'  what  like?" 

*  "A  seven-inch  crack  just  behind  the  boss.  There's 
no  power  on  earth  will  fend  it  just  jarrin'  off." 

'  "When?" 

269 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'  "That's  beyon'  my  knowledge,"  I  said. 

'  "So  it  is;  so  it  is,"  said  McRimmon.  "We've  all 
oor  leemitations.     Ye're  certain  it  was  a  crack?  " 

'  "Man,  it's  a  crevasse,"  I  said,  for  there  were  no 
words  to  describe  the  magnitude  of  it.  "An'  young 
Bannister's  sayin'  it's  no  more  than  a  superfeecial 
flaw!" 

'  "  Weel,  I  tak'  it  oor  business  is  to  mind  oor  business. 
If  ye've  ony  friends  aboard  her,  McPhee,  why  not  bid 
them  to  a  bit  dinner  at  Radley's?" 

'  "I  was  thinkin'  o'  tea  in  the  cuddy,"  I  said.  "En- 
gineers o'  tramp  freighters  cannot  afford  hotel  prices." 

'  "Na!  na!"  says  the  auld  man,  whimperin'.  "Not 
the  cuddy.  They'll  laugh  at  my  'Kite,'  for  she's  no 
plastered  with  paint  like  the  'Hoor.'  Bid  them  to 
Radley's,  McPhee,  an'  send  me  the  bill.  Thank  Dandie, 
here,  man.  I'm  no  used  to  thanks."  Then  he  turned 
him  round.     (I  was  just  thinkin'  the  vara  same  thing.) 

'  "Mister  McPhee,"  said  he,  "this  is  not  senile  de- 
mentia." 

'  "Preserve  's!"  I  said,  clean  jumped  oot  o'  mysel'. 
"I  was  but  thinkin'  you're  fey,  McRimmon." 

'  Dod,  the  auld  deevil  laughed  till  he  nigh  sat  down  on 
Dandie.  "Send  me  the  bill,"  says  he.  "I'm  lang  past 
champagne,  but  tell  me  how  it  tastes  the  morn." 

'Bell  and  I  bid  young  Bannister  and  Calder  to  dinner 
at  Radley's.  They'll  have  no  laughin'  an'  singin'  there, 
but  we  took  a  private  room — like  yacht-owners  fra' 
Cowes.' 

McPhee  grinned  all  over,  and  lay  back  to  think. 

'And  then?' said  I. 

'  We  were  no  drunk  in  ony  preceese  sense  o'  the  word, 
but  Radley's  showed  me  the  dead  men.     There  were 

270 


'BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS' 

six  magnums  o'  dry  champagne  an'  maybe  a  bottle  o' 
whisky.' 

'  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  four  got  away  with  a 
magnum  and  a  half  apiece,  besides  whisky? '  I  demanded. 

McPhee  looked  down  upon  me  from  between  his 
shoulders  with  toleration. 

'Man,  we  were  not  settin'  down  to  drink,'  he  said. 
'  They  no  more  than  made  us  wutty .  To  be  sure,  young 
Bannister  laid  his  head  on  the  table  an'  greeted  like  a 
bairn,  an'  Calder  was  all  for  callin'  on  Steiner  at  two  in 
the  morn'  an'  painting  him  galley-green;  but  they'd 
been  drinkin'  the  afternoon.  Lord,  how  they  twa 
cursed  the  Board,  an'  the  "Grotkau,"  an'  the  tail-shaft, 
an'  the  engines,  an'  a' !  They  didna  talk  o'  superfeecial 
flaws  that  night.  I  mind  young  Bannister  an'  Calder 
shakin'  hands  on  a  bond  to  be  revenged  on  the  Board  at 
ony  reasonable  cost  this  side  o'  losing  their  certificates. 
Now  mark  ye  how  false  economy  ruins  business.  The 
Board  fed  them  like  swine  (I  have  good  reason  to  know 
it),  an'  I've  obsairved  wi'  my  ain  people  that  if  ye  touch 
his  stomach  ye  wauken  the  deil  in  a  Scot.  Men  will 
tak'  a  dredger  across  the  Atlantic  if  they're  well  fed,  and 
fetch  her  somewhere  on  the  broadside  o'  the  Americas; 
but  bad  food's  bad  service  the  world  over. 

'The  bill  went  to  McRimmon,  an'  he  said  no  more  to 
me  till  the  week-end,  when  I  was  at  him  for  more  paint, 
for  we'd  heard  the  "Kite"  was  chartered  Liverpool-side. 

'  "Bide  whaur  ye're  put,"  said  the  Blind  Deevil. 
"Man,  do  ye  wash  in  champagne?  The  'Kite's'  no 
leavin'  here  till  I  gie  the  order,  an' — how  am  I  to  waste 
paint  on  her,  wi'  the  'Lammergeyer'  docked  for  who 
knows  how  long,  an'  a'?" 

'She  was  our  big  freighter — Mclntyre  was  engineer — 

271 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

an'  I  knew  she'd  come  from  overhaul  not  three  months. 
That  morn  I  met  McRimmon's  head-clerk — ye'll  not 
know  him — fair  bitin'  his  nails  off  wi'  mortification. 

'  "The  auld  man's  gone  gyte,"  says  he.  "He's  with- 
drawn the  '  Lammergeyer.' " 

'  "Maybe  he  has  reasons,"  says  I. 

'  "Reasons!     He's  daft!" 

'  "He'll  no  be  daft  till  he  begins  to  paint,"  I  said. 

*  "That's  just  what  he's  done — and  South  American 
freights  higher  than  we'll  live  to  see  them  again.  He's 
laid  her  up  to  paint  her — to  paint  her — to  paint  her!" 
says  the  little  clerk,  dancin'  like  a  hen  on  a  hot  plate. 
"Five  thousand  ton  o'  potential  freight  rottin'  in  dry- 
dock,  man;  an'  he  dolin'  the  paint  out  in  quarter-pound- 
tins,  for  it  cuts  him  to  the  heart,  mad  though  he  is. 
An'  the  'Grotkau' — the  'Grotkau'  of  all  conceivable 
bottoms — soaking  up  every  pound  that  should  be  ours 
at  Liverpool!" 

'  I  was  staggered  wi'  this  folly — considerin'  the  dinner 
at  Radley's  in  connection  wi'  the  same. 

'  "Ye  may  well  stare,  McPhee,"  says  the  head-clerk. 
"There's  engines,  an'  rollin'  stock,  an'  iron  bridges — 
d'ye  know  what  freights  are  noo? — an'  pianos,  an' 
millinery,  an'  fancy  Brazil  cargo  o'  every  species  pourin' 
into  the  'Grotkau' — the  'Grotkau'  o'  the  Jerusalem 
firm — and  the  ' Lammergeyer' s'  bein'  painted!" 

'  Losh,  I  thought  he'd  drop  dead  wi'  the  fits. 

*I  could  say  no  more  than  "Obey  orders,  if  ye  break 
owners,"  but  on  the  "Kite"  we  believed  McRimmon 
was  mad;  an'  Mclntyre  of  the  "Lammergeyer"  was  for 
lockin'  him  up  by  some  patent  legal  process  he'd  found 
in  a  book  o'  maritime  law.  An'  a'  that  week  South 
American  freights  rose  an'  rose.     It  was  sinf u'  1 

272 


'BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS' 

'Syne  Bell  got  orders  to  tak'  the  "Kite"  round  to 
Liverpool  in  water-ballast,  and  McRimmon  came  to 
bid's  good-bye,  yammerin'  an'  whinin  'o'er  the  acres  o' 
paint  he'd  lavished  on  the  "Lammergeyer," 

'  "I  look  to  you  to  retrieve  it,"  says  he.  "I  look  to 
you  to  reimburse  me!  'Fore  God,  why  are  ye  not  cast 
off?     Are  ye  dawdlin'  in  dock  for  a  purpose?" 

'  "What  odds,  McRimmon?"  says  Bell.  "We'll  be  a 
day  behind  the  fair  at  Liverpool.  The  'Grotkau's'  got 
all  the  freight  that  might  ha'  been  ours  an'  the  'Lam- 
mergeyer's.'  "  McRimmon  laughed  an'  chuckled — the 
pairfect  eemage  o'  senile  dementia.  Ye  ken  his  eye- 
brows wark  up  an'  down  like  a  gorilla's. 

'  "Ye're  under  sealed  orders,"  said  he,  tee-heein'  an' 
scratchin'  himself.  "  Yon's  they" — to  be  opened  seriatim. 

'  Says  Bell,  shufflin'  the  envelopes  when  the  auld  man 
had  gone  ashore:  "We're  to  creep  round  a'  the  south 
coast,  standin'  in  for  orders — this  weather,  too.  There's 
no  question  o'  his  lunacy  now." 

*  Well,  we  buttocked  the  auld  "  Kite  "  along — vara  bad 
weather  we  made — standin'  in  alongside  for  telegraphic 
orders,  which  are  the  curse  o'  skippers.  Syne  we  made 
over  to  Holyhead,  an'  Bell  opened  the  last  envelope  for 
the  last  instructions.  I  was  wi'  him  in  the  cuddy,  an' 
he  threw  it  over  to  me,  cryin':  "Did  ye  ever  know  the 
like,  Mac?" 

'I'll  no  say  what  McRimmon  had  written,  but  he  was 
far  from  mad.  There  was  a  sou'-wester  brewin'  when 
we  made  the  mouth  o'  the  Mersey,  a  bitter  cold  morn 
wi'  a  gray-green  sea  and  a  gray-green  sky — Liverpool 
weather,  as  they  say;  an'  there  we  lay  choppin',  an'  the 
men  swore.  Ye  canna  keep  secrets  aboard  ship.  They 
thought  McRimmon  was  mad,  too. 

273 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'Syne  we  saw  the  "Grotkau"  rollin'  oot  on  the  top  o' 
flood,  deep  an'  double  deep,  wi'  her  new-painted  funnel 
an'  her  new-painted  boats  an'  a'.  She  looked  her  name, 
an',  moreover,  she  coughed  like  it.  Calder  tauld  me 
at  Radley's  what  ailed  his  engines,  but  my  own  ear 
would  ha'  told  me  twa  mile  awa',  by  the  beat  o'  them. 
Round  we  came,  plungin'  an'  squatterin'  in  her  wake, 
an'  the  wind  cut  wi'  good  promise  o'  more  to  come.  By 
six  it  blew  hard  but  clear,  an'  before  the  middle  watch 
it  was  a  sou'-wester  in  airnest. 

'  "She'll  edge  into  Ireland,  this  gait,"  says  BelL  I 
was  with  him  on  the  bridge,  watchin'  the  "Grotkau's" 
port  light.  Ye  canna  see  green  so  far  as  red,  or  we'd  ha' 
kept  to  leeward.  We'd  no  passengers  to  consider,  an' 
(all  eyes  being  on  the  "Grotkau")  we  fair  walked  into  a 
liner  rampin'  home  to  Liverpool.  Or,  to  be  preceese, 
Bell  no  more  than  twisted  the  "Kite"  oot  from  under 
her  bows,  and  there  was  a  little  damnin'  betwix'  the  twa 
bridges.  Noo  a  passenger' — McPhee  regarded  me  be- 
nignantly — 'wad  ha'  told  the  papers  that  as  soon  as 
he  got  to  the  Customs.  We  stuck  to  the  "Grotkau's" 
tail  that  night  an'  the  next  twa  days — she  slowed  down 
to  five  knots  by  my  reckonin' — and  we  lapped  along  the 
weary  way  to  the  Fastnet.' 

'But  you  don't  go  by  the  Fastnet  to  get  to  any  South 
American  port,  do  you? '  I  said. 

'We  do  not.  We  prefer  to  go  as  direct  as  may  be. 
But  we  were  followin'  the  "Grotkau,"  an'  she'd  no  walk 
into  that  gale  for  ony  consideration.  Knowin'  what  I 
did  to  her  discredit,  I  couldna'  blame  young  Bannister. 
It  was  warkin'  up  to  a  North  Atlantic  winter  gale,  snow 
an'  sleet  an'  a  perishin'  wind.  Eh,  it  was  like  the  deil 
walkin'  abroad  o'  the  surface  o'  the  deep,  whuppin'  off 

274 


'BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS' 

the  top  o'  the  waves  before  he  made  up  his  mind. 
They'd  bore  up  against  it  so  far,  but  the  minute  she  was 
clear  o'  the  Skelligs  she  fair  tucked  up  her  skirts  an'  ran 
for  it  by  Dunmore  Head.     Wow,  she  rolled ! 

'  "She'll  be  makin'  Smerwick,"  says  Bell. 

'  "She'd  ha'  tried  for  Ventry  by  noo  if  she  meant 
that,"  I  said. 

'  "They'll  roll  the  funnel  oot  o'  her,  this  gait,"  says 
Bell.     "Why  canna  Bannister  keep  her  head  to  sea?" 

'  "It's  the  tail-shaft.  Ony  rollin's  better  than  pitch- 
in'  wi'  superfeecial  cracks  in  the  tail-shaft.  Calder 
knows  that  much,"  I  said. 

'  "It's  ill  wark  retreevin'  steamers  this  weather,"  said 
Bell.  His  beard  and  whiskers  were  frozen  to  his  oilskin, 
an'  the  spray  was  white  on  the  weather  side  of  him. 
Pairfect  North  Atlantic  winter  weather! 

'One  by  one  the  sea  raxed  away  our  three  boats,  an' 
the  davits  were  crumpled  like  rams'  horns. 

'  "  Yon's  bad,"  said  Bell,  at  the  last.  "Ye  canna  pass 
a  hawser  wi'oot  a  boat."  Bell  was  a  vara  judeecious 
man — for  an  Aberdonian. 

'I'm  not  one  that  fashes  himself  for  eventualities 
outside  the  engine-room,  so  I  e'en  slipped  down  betwixt 
waves  to  see  how  the  "Kite"  fared.  Man,  she's  the 
best-geared  boat  of  her  class  that  ever  left  the  Clyde! 
Kinloch,  my  second,  knew  her  as  well  as  I  did.  I  found 
him  dryin'  his  socks  on  the  main-steam,  an'  combin'  his 
whiskers  wi'  the  comb  Janet  gied  me  last  year,  for  the 
warld  an'  a'  as  though  we  were  in  port.  I  tried  the 
feed,  speered  into  the  stoke-hole,  thumbed  all  bearin's, 
spat  on  the  thrust  for  luck,  gied  'em  my  blessin',  an'  took 
Kinloch's  socks  before  I  went  up  to  the  bridge  again. 

'Then  Bell  handed  me  the  wheel,  an'  went  below  to 

275 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

warm  himself.  When  he  came  up  my  gloves  were  frozen 
to  the  spokes,  an'  the  ice  clicked  over  my  eyelids.  Pair- 
feet  North  Atlantic  winter  weather,  as  I  was  sayin'. 

'The  gale  blew  out  by  night,  but  we  lay  in  smotherin' 
cross-seas  that  made  the  auld  "Kite"  chatter  from 
stem  to  stern.  I  slowed  to  thirty-four,  I  mind — no, 
thirty-seven.  There  was  a  long  swell  the  morn,  an'  the 
"Grotkau"  was  headin'  into  it  west  awa'. 

'  "She'll  win  to  Rio  yet,  tail-shaft  or  no  tail-shaft," 
says  Bell. 

'  "Last  night  shook  her,"  I  said.  "She'll  jar  it  off 
yet,  mark  my  word." 

'We  were  then,  maybe,  a  hunder  and  fifty  mile  west- 
sou'-west  o'  Slyne  Head,  by  dead  reckonin'.  Next  day 
we  made  a  hunder  an'  thirty — ye'll  note  we  were  not 
racin'  boats — an'  the  day  after  a  hunder  and  sixty-one, 
an'  that  made  us,  we'll  say.  Eighteen  an'  a  bittock  west, 
an'  maybe  Fifty-one  an'  a  bittock  north,  crossin'  all  the 
North  Atlantic  liner  lanes  on  the  long  slant,  always  in 
sight  o'  the  "Grotkau,"  creepin'  up  by  night  and  fallin' 
awa'  by  day.  After  the  gale,  it  was  cold  weather  wi' 
dark  nights. 

'  I  was  in  the  engine-room  on  Friday  night,  just  before 
the  middle  watch,  when  Bell  whustled  down  the  tube: 
"She's  done  it";  an'  up  I  came. 

*The  "Grotkau"  was  just  a  fair  distance  south,  an' 
one  by  one  she  ran  up  the  three  red  lights  in  a  vertical 
line — the  sign  of  a  steamer  not  under  control. 

*  '*Yon's  a  tow  for  us,"  said  Bell,  lickin'  his  chops. 
"She'll  be  worth  more  than  the  'Breslau.'  We'll  go 
down  to  her,  McPhee!" 

*  "Bide  a  while,"  I  said.  "The  seas  fair  throng  wi' 
ships  here." 

276 


'BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS' 

'"Reason  why,"  said  Bell.  "It's  a  fortune  gaun 
beggin'.     What  d'ye  think,  man?  " 

'  "Gie  her  till  daylight.  She  knows  w-e're  here.  If 
Bannister  needs  help  he'll  loose  a  rocket." 

'  "Wha  told  ye  Bannister's  need?  W'e'll  ha'  some 
rag-an'-bone  tramp  snappin'  her  up  under  oor  nose," 
said  he;  an'  he  put  the  w^heel  over.     We  were  gaun  slow. 

'  "Bannister  wad  like  better  to  go  home  on  a  liner  an' 
eat  in  the  saloon.  Mind  ye  what  they  said  o'  Holdock 
and  Steiner's  food  that  night  at  Radley's?  Keep  her 
aw^a',  man — keep  her  aw^a'.  A  tow's  a  tow,  but  a  dere- 
lict's big  salvage." 

'  "E-eh!"  said  Bell.  "Yon's  an  inshoto' yours,  Mac. 
I  love  ye  like  a  brother.  We'll  bide  whaur  we  are  till 
daylight" ;  an'  he  kept  her  awa'. 

'  Syne  up  went  a  rocket  forward,  an'  twa  on  the  bridge, 
an'  a  blue  light  aft.     Syne  a  tar-barrel  forward  again. 

'  "She's  sinkin',"  said  Bell.  "It's  all  gaun,  an'  I'll 
get  no  more  than  a  pair  o'  night-glasses  for  pickin'  up 
young  Bannister — the  fool ! " 

'  "Fair  an'  soft  again,"  I  said.  "She's  signallin'  to 
the  south  of  us.  Bannister  knows  as  well  as  I  that  one 
rocket  would  bring  the  'Kite.'  He'll  no  be  wastin'  fire- 
works for  nothin'.     Hear  her  ca' ! " 

'The  "Grotkau"  whustled  an'  whustled  for  five  min- 
utes, an'  then  there  were  more  fireworks — a  regular  ex- 
hibeetion. 

'  "That's  no  for  men  in  the  regular  trade,"  says  Bell. 
"Ye're  right,  Mac.  That's  for  a  cuddy  full  o'  passen- 
gers.' '  He  blinked  through  the  night-glasses  where  it  lay 
a  bit  thick  to  southward. 

'  "What  d'ye  make  of  it?"  I  said. 

'"Liner,"  he  says.     "Yon's  her  rocket.     Ou,   ay; 

277 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

they've  waukened  the  gold-strapped  skipper,  an' — noo 
they've  waukened  the  passengers.  They're  turnin'  on 
the  electrics,  cabin  by  cabin.  Yon's  anither  rocket! 
They're  comin'  up  to  help  the  perishin'  in  deep  watters." 

'  "Gie  me  the  glass,"  I  said.  But  Bell  danced  on  the 
bridge,  clean  dementit.  " Mails— mails — mails!"  said 
he.  "Under  contract  wi'  the  Government  for  the  due 
conveyance  o'  the  mails;  an'  as  such,  Mac,  ye'll  note, 
she  may  rescue  life  at  sea,  but  she  canna  tow! — she 
canna  tow!  Yon's  her  night-signal.  She'll  be  up  in 
half  an  hour!" 

'  "Gowk!"  I  said,  "an'  we  blazin'  here  wi'  all  oor 
lights.     Oh,  Bell,  but  ye're  a  fool." 

'He  tumbled  off  the  bridge  forward,  an'  I  tumbled  aft, 
an'  before  ye  could  wink  our  lights  were  oot,  the  engine- 
room  hatch  was  covered,  an'  we  lay  pitch-dark,  watchin' 
the  lights  o'  the  liner  come  up  that  the  "Grotkau"  'd 
been  signallin'  for.  Twenty  knot  an  hour  she  came, 
every  cabin  lighted,  an'  her  boats  swung  awa'.  It  was 
grandly  done,  an'  in  the  inside  of  an  hour.  She  stopped 
like  Mrs.  Holdock's  machine;  down  went  the  gangway, 
down  went  the  boats,  an'  in  ten  minutes  we  heard  the 
passengers  cheerin',  an'  awa'  she  fled. 

'  "They'll  tell  o'  this  all  the  days  they  live,"  said  Bell. 
"A  rescue  at  sea  by  night,  as  pretty  as  a  play.  Young 
Bannister  an'  Calder  will  be  drinkin'  in  the  saloon,  an' 
six  months  hence  the  Board  o'  Trade  '11  gie  the  skipper 
a  pair  o'  binoculars.     It's  vara  philanthropic  all  round." 

'  We  lay  by  till  day — ye  may  think  we  waited  for  it  wi' 
sore  eyes — an'  there  sat  the  "Grotkau,"  her  nose  a  bit 
cocked,  just  leerin'  at  us.  She  looked  pairfectly  ridee- 
culous. 

'  "She'll  be  fillin'  aft,"  says  Bell;  "for  why  is  she  down 

278 


'BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS' 

by  the  stern?  The  tail-shaft's  punched  a  hole  in  her, 
an' — we've  no  boats.  There's  three  hunder  thousand 
pound  sterlin',  at  a  conservative  estimate,  droonin' 
before  our  eyes.  What's  to  do?"  An'  his  bearin's  got 
hot  again  in  a  minute;  for  he  was  an  incontinent  man. 

'  "Run  her  as  near  as  ye  daur,"  I  said.  "Gie  me  a 
jacket  an'  a  life-line,  an'  I'll  swum  for  it."  There  was  a 
bit  lump  of  a  sea,  an'  it  was  cold  in  the  wind — vara  cold; 
but  they'd  gone  overside  like  passengers,  young  Bannis- 
ter an'  Calder  an'  a',  leaving  the  gangway  down  on  the 
lee-side.  It  would  ha'  been  a  flyin'  in  the  face  o'  mani- 
fest Providence  to  overlook  the  invitation.  We  were 
within  fifty  yards  o'  her  while  Kinloch  was  garmin'  me 
all  over  wi'  oil  behind  the  galley;  an'  as  we  ran  past  I 
went  overboard  for  the  salvage  o'  three  hunder  thousand 
pound.  Man,  it  was  perishin'  cold,  but  I'd  done  my  job 
judgmatically,  an'  came  scrapin'  all  along  her  side  slap 
on  to  the  lower  gratin'  o'  the  gangway.  No  one  more 
astonished  than  me,  I  assure  ye.  Before  I'd  caught 
my  breath  I'd  skinned  both  my  knees  on  the  gratin',  an' 
was  climbin'  up  before  she  rolled  again.  I  made  my 
line  fast  to  the  rail,  an'  squattered  aft  to  young  Bannis- 
ter's cabin,  whaur  I  dried  me  wi'  everything  in  his  bunk, 
an'  put  on  every  conceivable  sort  o'  rig  I  found  till  the 
blood  was  circulatin'.  Three  pair  drawers,  I  mind  I 
found — to  begin  upon — an'  I  needed  them  all.  It  was 
the  coldest  cold  I  remember  in  all  my  experience. 

'  Syne  I  went  aft  to  the  engine-room.  The  "  Grotkau" 
sat  on  her  own  tail,  as  they  say.  She  was  vara  short- 
shafted,  an'  her  gear  was  all  aft.  There  was  four  or  five 
foot  o'  water  in  the  engine-room  slummockin'  to  and  fro, 
black  an'  greasy ;  maybe  there  was  six  foot.  The  stoke- 
hold doors  were  screwed  home,  an'  the  stokehold  was 

279 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

tight  enough,  but  for  a  minute  the  mess  in  the  engine- 
room  deceived  me.  Only  for  a  minute,  though,  an'  that 
was  because  I  was  not,  in  a  manner  o'  speakin',  as  calm 
as  ordinar'.  I  looked  again  to  mak'  sure.  'Twas  just 
black  wi'  bilge:  dead  watter  that  must  ha'  come  in  for- 
tuitously, ye  ken.' 

'McPhee,  I'm  only  a  passenger,'  I  said,  'but  you  don't 
persuade  me  that  six  foot  o'  water  can  come  into  an 
engine-room  fortuitously.' 

'Who's  tryin'  to  persuade  one  way  or  the  other?' 
McPhee  retorted.  'I'm  statin'  the  facts  o'  the  case — 
the  simple,  natural  facts.  Six  or  seven  foot  o'  dead 
watter  in  the  engine-room  is  a  vara  depressin'  sight  if  ye 
think  there's  like  to  be  more  comin';  but  I  did  not  con- 
sider that  such  was  likely,  and  so,  ye'll  note,  I  was  not 
depressed.' 

*  That's  all  very  well,  but  I  want  to  know  about  the 
water,'  I  said. 

*rve  told  ye.  There  was  six  feet  or  more  there,  wi' 
Calder's  cap  floatin'  on  top.' 

'  Where  did  it  come  from? ' 

*Weel,  in  the  confusion  o'  things  after  the  propeller 
had  dropped  off  an'  the  engines  were  racin'  an'  a',  it's 
vara  possible  that  Calder  might  ha'  lost  it  off  his  head 
an'  no  troubled  himself  to  pick  it  up  again.  I  remember 
seein'  that  cap  on  him  at  Southampton.' 

'I  don't  want  to  know  about  the  cap.  I'm  asking 
where  the  water  came  from,  and  what  it  was  doing 
there,  and  why  you  were  so  certain  that  it  wasn't  a  leak, 
McPhee?' 

*For  good  reason — for  good  an'  sufficient  reason.' 

*  Give  it  to  me,  then.' 

*Well,  it's  a  reason  that  does  not  properly  concern 

280 


'BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS' 

myself  only.  To  be  preceese,  I'm  of  opinion  that  it  was 
due,  the  watter,  in  part  to  an  error  o'  judgment  in 
another  man.     We  can  a'  mak'  mistakes.' 

'Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon!     Goon.' 

'I  got  me  to  the  rail  again,  an',  "What's  wrang?" 
said  Bell,  hailin'. 

'  "She'll  do,"  I  said.  "Send's  o'er  a  hawser,  an'  a 
man  to  help  steer.     I'll  pull  him  in  by  the  life-line." 

'  I  could  see  heads  bobbin'  back  an'  forth,  an'  a  whuff 
or  two  o'  strong  words.  Then  Bell  said:  "They'll  not 
trust  themselves— one  of  'em — in  this  watter — except 
Kinloch,  an'  I'll  no  spare  him." 

'  "The  more  salvage  to  me,  then,"  I  said.  "I'll  make 
shift  solo." 

'Says  one  dock-rat  at  this:  "D'ye  think  she's  safe?" 

'  "I'll  guarantee  ye  nothing,"  I  said,  "except,  maybe, 
a  hammerin'  for  keepin'  me  this  long." 

'Then  he  sings  out:  "There's  no  more  than  one  life- 
belt, an'  they  canna  find  it,  or  I'd  come." 

'  "Throw  him  over,  the  Jezebel,"  I  said,  for  I  was  oot 
o'  patience;  an'  they  took  baud  o'  that  volunteer  before 
he  knew  what  was  in  store,  and  hove  him  over  in  the 
bight  of  the  life-line.  So  I  e'en  hauled  him  upon  the 
sag  of  it,  hand-over-fist — a  vara  welcome  recruit  when 
I'd  tilted  the  salt  watter  out  of  him;  for,  by  the  way,  he 
could  not  swum. 

'  Syne  they  bent  a  twa-inch  rope  to  the  life-line,  an*  a 
hawser  to  that,  an'  I  led  the  rope  o'er  the  drum  of  a 
hand-winch  forward,  an'  we  sweated  the  hawser  inboard 
an'  made  it  fast  to  the  "Grotkau's"  bitts. 

'Bell  brought  the  "Kite"  so  close  I  feared  she'd  roll 
in  an'  do  the  "Grotkau's"  plates  a  mischief.  He  hove 
anither  life-line  to  me,  an'  went  astern,  an'  we  had  all 

281 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

the  weary  winch-work  to  do  again  wi'  a  second  hawser. 
For  all  that,  Bell  was  right:  we'd  a  long  tow  before  us, 
an'  though  Providence  had  helped  us  that  far,  there  was 
no  sense  in  leavin'  too  much  to  its  keepin'.  When  the 
second  hawser  was  fast,  I  was  wet  wi'  sweat,  an'  I  cried 
Bell  to  tak'  up  his  slack  an'  go  home.  The  other  man 
was  by  way  o'  helpin'  the  work  wi'  askin'  for  drinks,  but 
I  e'en  told  him  he  must  hand  reef  an'  steer,  beginnin' 
with  steerin',  for  I  was  goin  to  turn  in.  He  steered — 
ou,  ay,  he  steered,  in  a  manner  o'  speakin'.  At  the 
least,  he  grippit  the  spokes  an'  twiddled  'em  an'  looked 
wise,  but  I  doubt  if  the  "Hoor"  ever  felt  it.  I  turned 
in  there  an'  then  to  young  Bannister's  bunk,  an'  slept 
past  expression.  I  waukened  ragin'  wi'  hunger,  a  fair 
lump  o'  sea  runnin',  the  "Kite"  snorin'  awa'  four  knots 
an  hour;  an'  the  "Grotkau"  slappin'  her  nose  under,  an' 
yawin'  an'  standin'  over  at  discretion.  She  was  a  most 
disgracefu'  tow.  But  the  shameful  thing  of  all  was  the 
food.  I  raxed  me  a  meal  fra  galley-shelves  an'  pantries 
an'  lazareetes  an'  cubby-holes  that  I  would  not  ha'  gied 
to  the  mate  of  a  Cardiff  collier;  an'  ye  ken  we  say  a  Car- 
diff mate  will  eat  clinkers  to  save  waste.  I'm  sayin'  it 
was  simply  vile!  The  crew  had  written  what  they 
thought  of  it  on  the  new  paint  o'  the  fo'c'sle,  but  I  had 
not  a  decent  soul  wi'  me  to  complain  on.  There  was 
nothin'  for  me  to  do  save  watch  the  hawsers  an'  the 
"Kite's"  tail  squatterin'  down  in  white  watter  when 
she  lifted  to  a  sea;  so  I  got  steam  on  the  after  donkey- 
pump,  an'  pumped  oot  the  engine-room.  There's  no 
sense  in  leavin'  watter  loose  in  a  ship.  When  she  was 
dry,  I  went  doun  the  shaft-tunnel,  an'  found  she  v/as 
leakin'  a  little  through  the  stufTm'-box,  but  nothin'  to 
make  wark.     The  propeller  had  e'en  jarred  off,  as  I 

282 


'BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS' 

knew  it  must,  an'  Calder  had  been  waitin'  for  it  to  go  wi' 
his  hand  on  the  gear.  He  told  me  as  much  when  I  met 
him  ashore.  There  was  nothin'  started  or  strained.  It 
had  just  sHpped  awa'  to  the  bed  o'  the  Atlantic  as  easy 
as  a  man  dyin'  wi'  due  warnin'^a  most  providential 
business  for  all  concerned.  Syne  I  took  stock  o'  the 
"Grotkau's"  upper  works.  Her  boats  had  been  smashed 
on  the  davits,  an'  here  an'  there  was  the  rail  missin',  an' 
a  ventilator  or  two  had  fetched  awa',  an'  the  bridge-rails 
were  bent  by  the  seas;  but  her  hatches  were  tight,  and 
she'd  taken  no  sort  of  harm.  Dod,  I  came  to  hate  her 
like  a  human  bein',  for  I  was  eight  weary  days  aboard, 
starvin' — ay,  starvin' — within  a  cable's  length  o'  plenty. 
All  day  I  lay  in  the  bunk  reading  the  "Woman-Hater," 
the  grandest  book  Charlie  Reade  ever  wrote,  an'  pickin' 
a  toothful  here  an'  there.  It  was  weary,  weary  work. 
Eight  days,  man,  I  was  aboard  the  "Grotkau,"  an' not 
one  full  meal  did  I  make.  Sma'  blame  her  crew  would 
not  stay  by  her.  The  other  man?  Oh,  I  warked  him 
to  keep  him  crack.     I  warked  him  wi'  a  vengeance. 

'  It  came  on  to  blow  when  we  fetched  soundin's,  an' 
that  kept  me  standin'  by  the  hawsers,  lashed  to  the 
capstan,  breathin'  betwixt  green  seas.  I  near  died  o' 
cauld  an'  hunger,  for  the  "Grotkau"  towed  like  a  barge, 
an'  Bell  howkit  her  along  through  or  over.  It  was  vara 
thick  up-Channel,  too.  We  were  standin'  in  to  make 
some  sort  o'  light,  and  we  near  walked  over  twa  three 
fishin'-boats,  an'  they  cried  us  we  were  o'erclose  to  Fal- 
mouth. Then  we  were  near  cut  down  by  a  drunken 
foreign  fruiter  that  was  blunderin'  between  us  an'  the 
shore,  and  it  got  thicker  and  thicker  that  night,  an'  I 
could  feel  by  the  tow  Bell  did  not  know  whaur  he  was. 
Losh,  we  knew  in  the  morn,  for  the  wind  blew  the  fog 

283 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

oot  like  a  candle,  an'  the  sun  came  clear;  and  as  surely 
as  McRimmon  gied  me  my  cheque,  the  shadow  o'  the 
Eddystone  lay  across  our  tow-rope!  We  were  that 
near — ay,  we  were  that  near!  Bell  fetched  the  "Kite" 
round  with  a  jerk  that  came  close  to  tearin'  the  bitts  out 
o'  the  "Grotkau";  an'  I  mind  I  thanked  my  Maker  in 
young  Bannister's  cabin  when  we  w^ere  inside  Plymouth. 

'The  first  to  come  aboard  was  McRimmon,  wi'  Dan- 
die.  Did  I  tell  you  our  orders  were  to  take  anything 
found  into  Plymouth?  The  auld  deil  had  just  come 
down  overnight,  puttin'  tw^o  an'  two  together  from 
what  Calder  had  told  him  w^hen  the  liner  landed  the 
"Grotkau's"  men.  He  had  preceesely  hit  oor  time. 
I'd  hailed  Bell  for  something  to  eat,  an'  he  sent  it  o'er 
in  the  same  boat  wi'  McRimmon,  when  the  auld  man 
came  to  me.  He  grinned  an'  slapped  his  legs  and 
worked  his  eyebrows  the  while  I  ate. 

'  "How  do  Holdock,  Steiner,  and  Chase  feed  their 
men?"  said  he. 

'  "Ye  can  see,"  I  said,  knockin'  the  top  ofT  another 
beer-bottle.    "  I  did  not  sign  to  be  starved,  McRimmon." 

'  "Nor  to  swim,  either,"  said  he,  for  Bell  had  tauld 
him  how  I  carried  the  line  aboard.  "W^ll,  I'm  thinkin' 
you'll  be  no  loser.  What  freight  could  we  ha'  put  into 
the 'Lammergeyer'  would  equal  salvage  on  four  hun- 
der  thousand  pounds — hull  and  cargo?  Eh,  McPhee? 
This  cuts  the  liver  out  o'  Holdock,  Steiner,  Chase,  and 
Company,  Limited.  Eh,  McPhee?  An'  I'm  sufferin' 
from  senile  dementia  now?  Eh,  McPhee?  An'  I'm 
not  daft,  am  I,  till  I  begin  to  paint  the  'Lammergeyer'? 
Eh,  McPhee?  Ye  may  weel  lift  your  leg,  Dandie!  I 
ha'  the  laugh  o'  them  all.  Ye  found  watter  in  the 
engine-room?" 

284 


'BRKAD  UPON  THE  WATERS' 

'  "To  speak  wi'oot  prejudice,"  I  said,  "there  was 
some  waiter." 

'  "They  thought  she  was  sinkin'  after  the  propeller 
went.  She  filled  with  extraordinary  rapeedity.  Galder 
said  it  grieved  him  an'  Bannister  to  abandon  her." 

'  I  thought  o'  the  dinner  at  Radley's,  an'  what  like  o' 
food  I'd  eaten  for  eight  days. 

*  "It  would  grieve  them  sore,"  I  said. 

'  "But  the  crew  would  not  hear  o'  stayin'  an'  takin' 
their  chances.  They're  gaun  up  an'  down  sayin'  they'd 
ha'  starved  first." 

'  "They'd  ha'  starved  if  they'd  stayed,"  said  I. 

'  "I  tak'  it,  fra  Calder's  account,  there  was  a  mutiny 
a'most." 

'  "Ye  know  more  than  I,  McRimmon,"  I  said. 
"Speakin'  wi'oot  prejudice,  for  we're  all  in  the  same 
boat,  who  opened  the  bilge-cock?" 

'  "Oh,  that's  it — is  it?"  said  the  auld  man,  an'  I  could 
see  he  was  surprised.     "A  bilge-cock,  ye  say?  " 

'  "I  believe  it  was  a  bilge-cock.  They  were  all  shut 
when  I  came  aboard,  but  some  one  had  flooded  the 
engine-room  eight  feet  over  all,  and  shut  it  off  with  the 
worm-an'-wheel  gear  from  the  second  gratin'  after- 
wards." 

'  "  Losh ! "  said  McRimmon.  "  The  ineequity  o'  man's 
beyond  belief.  But  it's  awfu'  discreditable  to  Holdock, 
Steiner,  and  Chase,  if  that  came  oot  in  court." 

'  "It's  just  my  own  curiosity,"  I  said. 

'  "Aweel,  Dandie's  afflicted  wi'  the  same  disease. 
Dandie,  strive  against  curiosity,  for  it  brings  a  little  dog 
into  traps  an'  suchlike.  Whaur  was  the  'Kite'  when 
yon  painted  liner  took  off  the  *Grotkau's'  people?  " 

*  "Just  there  or  thereabouts,"  I  said. 

285 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'  "An'  which  o'  you  twa  thought  to  cover  your  lights?'* 
said  he,  winkin'. 

'  "Dandie,"  I  said  to  the  dog,  "we  must  both  strive 
against  curiosity.  It's  an  unremunerative  business. 
What's  our  chance  o'  salvage,  Dandie?" 

'He  laughed  till  he  choked.  "Tak'  what  I  gie  you, 
McPhee,  an'  be  content,"  he  said.  "Lord,  how  a  man 
wastes  time  w^hen  he  gets  old.  Get  aboard  the  'Kite,' 
mon,  as  soon  as  ye  can.  I've  clean  forgot  there's  a 
Baltic  charter  yammerin'  for  you  at  London.  That'll 
be  your  last  voyage,  I'm  thinkin',  excep'  by  way  o' 
pleasure." 

'Steiner's  men  were  comin'  aboard  to  take  charge  an' 
tow  her  round,  an'  I  passed  young  Steiner  in  a  boat  as  I 
went  to  the  "Kite."  He  looked  down  his  nose;  but 
McRimmon  pipes  up:  "Here's  the  man  ye  owe  the 
'Grotkau'  to — at  a  price,  Steiner — at  a  price!  Let  me 
introduce  Mister  McPhee  to  you.  Maybe  ye've  met 
before;  but  ye've  vara  little  luck  in  keeping  your  men — 
ashore  or  afloat!" 

'Young  Steiner  looked  angry  enough  to  eat  him  as  he 
chuckled  an'  whustled  in  his  dry  old  throat. 

'  "Ye've  not  got  your  award  yet,"  Steiner  says. 

'  "Na,  na,"  says  the  auld  man,  in  a  screech  ye  could 
hear  to  the  Hoe,  "but  I've  twa  million  sterlin',  an'  no 
bairns,  ye  Judeeas  Apella,  if  ye  mean  to  fight;  an'  I'll 
match  ye  p'und  for  p'und  till  the  last  p'und's  cot.  Ye 
ken  me,  Steiner?  I'm  McRimmon  o'  McNaughton  and 
McRimmon!" 

'  '*Dod!"  he  said  betwix'  his  teeth,  sittin'  back  in  the 
boat,  "I've  waited  fourteen  year  to  break  that  Jew-firm, 
an'  God  be  thankit  I'll  do  it  now." 

'The  "Kite"  was  in  the  Baltic  while  the  auld  man 

286 


'BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS' 

was  warkin  his  warks,  but  I  know  the  assessors  valued 
the  "Grotkau,"  all  told,  at  over  three  hunder  and  sixty 
thousand — her  manifest  was  a  treat  o'  richness — and 
McRimmon  got  a  third  for  salvin'  an  abandoned  ship. 
Ye  see,  there's  vast  deeference  between  towin'  a  ship  wi' 
men  on  her  and  pickin'  up  a  derelict — a  vast  deeference 
— in  pounds  sterlin'.  Moreover,  twa  three  o'  the  "  Grot- 
kau's"  crew  w^ere  burnin'  to  testify  about  the  food,  an' 
there  was  a  note  o'  Calder  to  the  Board  in  regard  to 
the  tail-shaft  that  would  ha'  been  vara  damagin'  if  it  had 
come  into  court.     They  knew  better  than  to  fight. 

'Syne  the  "Kite"  came  back,  and  McRimmon  paid 
off  me  an'  Bell  personally,  and  the  rest  of  the  crew  pro 
rata.  My  share— oor  share,  I  should  say — was  just 
twenty-five  thousand  pounds  sterlin'.' 

At  this  point  Janet  jumped  up  and  kissed  him. 

' Five-and-twenty  thousand  pound  sterlin'.  Noo,  I'm 
fra  the  North,  and  I'm  not  the  like  to  fling  money 
awa'  rashly,  but  I'd  gie  six  months'  pay — one  hunder 
an'  twenty  pound — to  know  who  flooded  the  engine- 
room  of  the  "Grotkau."  I'm  fairly  well  acquaint  wi' 
McRimmon's  eediosyncrasies,  and  he'd  no  hand  in  it. 
It  was  not  Calder,  for  I've  asked  him,  an'  he  wanted  to 
fight  me.  It  would  be  in  the  highest  degree  unprofes- 
sional o'  Calder — not  fightin',  but  openin'  bilge-cocks— 
but  for  a  while  I  thought  it  was  him.  Ay,  I  judged  it 
might  be  him — under  temptation.' 

'What's  your  theory?'  I  demanded. 

*  Weel,  I'm  inclined  to  think  it  was  one  o'  those  singu- 
lar providences  that  remind  us  we're  in  the  hands  o' 
Higher  Powers.' 

' It  couldn't  open  and  shut  itself?' 

'I  did  not  mean  that;  but  some  half-starvin'  oiler  or, 

287 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

maybe,  trimmer  must  ha'  opened  it  awhile  to  mak'  sure 
o'  leavin'  the  "Grotkau."  It's  a  demoralisin'  thing  to 
see  an  engine-room  flood  up  after  any  accident  to  the 
gear — demoralisin'  and  deceptive  both.  Aweel,  the 
man  got  what  he  wanted,  for  they  went  aboard  the  liner 
cryin'  that  the  "  Grotkau "  was  sinkin'.  But  it's  curious 
to  think  o'  the  consequences.  In  a'  human  probability, 
he's  bein'  damned  in  heaps  at  the  present  moment 
aboard  another  tramp-freighter;  an'  here  am  I,  wi'  five- 
an' -twenty  thousand  pounds  invested,  resolute  to  go  to 
sea  no  more — providential' s  the  preceese  word — except 
as  a  passenger,  ye'll  understand,  Janet.' 

McPhee  kept  his  word.  He  and  Janet  went  for  a 
voyage  as  passengers  in  the  first-class  saloon.  They 
paid  seventy  pounds  for  their  berths;  and  Janet  found 
a  very  sick  woman  in  the  second-class  saloon,  so  that  for 
sixteen  days  she  lived  below,  and  chattered  with  the 
stewardesses  at  the  foot  of  the  second-saloon  stairs 
while  her  patient  slept.  McPhee  was  a  passenger  for 
exactly  twenty-four  hours.  Then  the  engineers'  mess — 
where  the  oil-cloth  tables  are — joyfully  took  him  to  its 
bosom,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  voyage  that  company  was 
richer  by  the  unpaid  services  of  a  highly  certificated 
engineer. 


288 


AN    ERROR   IN   THE   FOURTH   DIMENSION 

(1894) 

BEFORE  he  was  thirty  he  discovered  that  there 
was  no  one  to  play  with  him.  Though  the 
wealth  of  three  toilsome  generations  stood  to  his 
account,  though  his  tastes  in  the  matter  of  books,  bind- 
ings, rugs,  swords,  bronzes,  lacquer,  pictures,  plate, 
statuary,  horses,  conservatories,  and  agriculture  were 
educated  and  catholic,  the  public  opinion  of  his  country 
wanted  to  know  why  he  did  not  go  to  office  daily,  as  his 
father  had  before  him. 

So  he  fled,  and  they  howled  behind  him  that  he  was  an 
unpatriotic  Anglomaniac,  born  to  consume  fruits,  one 
totally  lacking  in  public  spirit.  He  wore  an  eye-glass; 
he  had  built  a  wall  round  his  country  house,  with  a  high 
gate  that  shut,  instead  of  inviting  America  to  sit  on  his 
flower-beds;  he  ordered  his  clothes  from  England;  and 
the  press  of  his  abiding  city  cursed  him,  from  his  eye- 
glass to  his  trousers,  for  two  consecutive  days. 

When  he  rose  to  light  again,  it  was  where  nothing  less 
than  the  tents  of  an  invading  army  in  Piccadilly  would 
make  any  difference  to  anybody.  If  he  had  money  and 
leisure,  England  stood  ready  to  give  him  all  that  money 
and  leisure  could  buy.  That  price  paid,  she  would  ask 
no  questions.  He  took  his  cheque-book  and  accumu- 
lated things — ^warily  at  first,  for  he  remembered  that 

289 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

in  America  things  own  the  man.  To  his  delight,  he  dis- 
covered that  in  England  he  could  put  his  belongings 
under  his  feet;  for  classes,  ranks,  and  denominations  of 
people  rose,  as  it  were,  from  the  earth,  and  silently  and 
discreetly  took  charge  of  his  possessions.  They  had 
been  born  and  bred  for  that  sole  purpose — servants  of 
the  cheque-book.  When  that  was  at  an  end  they  would 
depart  as  mysteriously  as  they  had  come. 

The  impenetrability  of  this  regulated  life  irritated 
him,  and  he  strove  to  learn  something  of  the  human  side 
of  these  people.  He  retired  baffled,  to  be  trained  by  his 
menials.  In  America,  the  native  demoralises  the  Eng- 
lish servant.  In  England,  the  servant  educates  the 
master.  Wilton  Sargent  strove  to  learn  all  they  taught 
as  ardently  as  his  father  had  striven  to  wreck,  before 
capture,  the  railways  of  his  native  land;  and  it  must 
have  been  some  touch  of  the  old  bandit  railway  blood 
that  bade  him  buy,  for  a  song.  Holt  Hangars,  whose 
forty-acre  lawn,  as  every  one  knows,  sweeps  down  in 
velvet  to  the  quadruple  tracks  of  the  Great  Buchonian 
Railway.  Their  trains  flew  by  almost  continuously, 
with  a  bee-like  drone  in  the  day  and  a  flutter  of  strong 
wings  at  night.  The  son  of  Merton  Sargent  had  good 
right  to  be  interested  in  them.  He  owned  controlling 
interests  in  several  thousand  miles  of  track — not  per- 
manent-way— built  on  altogether  different  plans,  where 
locomotives  eternally  whistled  for  grade-crossings,  and 
parlour-cars  of  fabulous  expense  and  unrestful  design 
skated  round  curves  that  the  Great  Buchonian  would 
have  condemned  as  unsafe  in  a  construction-line.  From 
the  edge  of  his  lawn  he  could  trace  the  chaired  metals 
falling  away,  rigid  as  a  bowstring,  into  the  valley  of  the 
Prest,  studded  with  the  long  perspective  of  the  block- 

290 


AN  ERROR  IN  THE  FOURTH  DIMENSION 

signals,  buttressed  with  stone,  and  carried,  high  above 
all  possible  risk,  on  a  forty-foot  embankment. 

Left  to  himself,  he  would  have  builded  a  private  car, 
and  kept  it  at  the  nearest  railway  station,  Amberley 
Royal,  five  miles  away.  But  those  into  whose  hands 
he  had  committed  himself  for  his  English  training  had 
little  knowledge  of  railways  and  less  of  private  cars. 
The  one  they  knew  as  something  that  existed  in  the 
scheme  of  things  for  their  convenience.  The  other  they 
held  to  be  'distinctly  American';  and,  with  the  versatil- 
ity of  his  race,  Wilton  Sargent  had  set  out  to  be  just  a 
little  more  English  than  the  English. 

He  succeeded  to  admiration.  He  learned  not  to  re- 
decorate Holt  Hangars,  though  he  warmed  it;  to  leave 
his  guests  alone;  to  refrain  from  superfluous  introduc- 
tions; to  abandon  manners,  of  which  he  had  great  store, 
and  to  hold  fast  by  manner  which  can  after  labour  be 
acquired.  He  learned  to  let  other  people,  hired  for  the 
purpose,  attend  to  the  duties  for  which  they  were  paid. 
He  learned — this  he  got  from  a  ditcher  on  the  estate — 
that  every  man  with  whom  he  came  in  contact  had  his 
decreed  position  in  the  fabric  of  the  realm,  which  posi- 
tion Wilton  would  do  well  to  consult.  Last  mystery  of 
all,  he  learned  to  golf — well;  and  when  an  American 
knows  the  innermost  meaning  of  'Don't  press,  slow 
back,  and  keep  your  eye  on  the  ball,'  he  is,  for  practical 
purposes,  denationalised. 

His  other  education  proceeded  on  the  pleasantest 
lines.  Was  he  interested  in  any  conceivable  thing  in 
heaven  above,  or  the  earth  beneath,  or  the  waters  under 
the  earth?  Forthwith  appeared  at  his  table,  guided  by 
those  safe  hands  into  whichhehadfallen,  the  very  men  who 
had  best  said,  done,  written,  explored,  excavated,  built, 

291 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

launched,  created,  or  studied  that  one  thing — herders 
of  books  and  prints  in  the  British  Museum;  speciaUsts 
in  scarabs,  cartouches,  and  dynasties  Egyptian;  rovers 
and  raiders  from  the  heart  of  unknown  lands;  toxicolo- 
gists;  orchid-hunters;  monographers  on  flint  implements, 
carpets,  prehistoric  man,  or  early  Renaissance  music. 
They  came,  and  they  played  with  him.  They  asked 
no  questions;  they  cared  not  so  much  as  a  pin  who  or 
what  he  was.  They  demanded  only  that  he  should  be 
able  to  talk  and  listen  courteously.  Their  work  was 
done  elsewhere  and  out  of  his  sight. 

There  were  also  women. 

'Never,'  said  Wilton  Sargent  to  himself,  'has  an 
American  seen  England  as  I'm  seeing  it';  and  he 
thought,  blushing  beneath  the  bedclothes,  of  the  unre- 
generate  and  blatant  days  when  he  would  steam  to  office, 
down  the  Hudson,  in  his  twelve-hundred-ton  ocean- 
going steam-yacht,  and  arrive  by  gradations,  at  Bleecker 
Street,  hanging  on  to  a  leather  strap  between  an  Irish 
washerwoman  and  a  German  anarchist.  If  any  of  his 
guests  had  seen  him  then  they  would  have  said,  'How 
distinctly  American ! '  and — Wilton  did  not  care  for  that 
tone.  He  had  schooled  himself  to  an  English  walk,  and 
so  long  as  he  did  not  raise  it,  an  English  voice.  He  did 
not  gesticulate  with  his  hands;  he  sat  down  on  most  of 
his  enthusiasms,  but  he  could  not  rid  himself  of  The 
Shibboleth.  He  would  ask  for  the  Worcestershire  sauce. 
Even  Howard,  his  immaculate  butler,  could  not  break 
him  of  this. 

It  was  decreed  that  he  should  complete  his  education 
in  a  wild  and  wonderful  manner,  and  that  I  should  be  in 
at  that  death. 

Wilton  had  more  than  once  asked  me  to  Holt  Hangars, 

292 


AN  ERROR  IN  THE  FOURTH  DIMENSION 

for  the  purpose  of  showing  how  well  the  new  life  fitted 
him;  and  each  time  I  had  declared  it  creaseless.  His 
third  invitation  was  more  informal  than  the  others,  and 
he  hinted  of  some  matter  in  which  he  was  anxious  for  my 
sympathy  or  counsel,  or  both.  There  is  room  for  an 
infinity  of  mistakes  when  a  man  begins  to  take  liberties 
with  his  nationality;  and  I  went  down  expecting  things. 
A  seven-foot  dog-cart  and  a  groom  in  the  black  Holt 
Hangars  livery  met  me  at  Amberley  Royal.  At  Holt 
Hangars  I  was  received  by  a  person  of  elegance  and  true 
reserve,  and  piloted  to  my  luxurious  chamber.  There 
were  no  other  guests  in  the  house,  and  this  set  me  think- 
ing. 

Wilton  came  into  my  room  about  half-an-hour  before 
dinner,  and  though  his  face  was  masked  with  a  drop- 
curtain  of  highly  embroidered  indifference,  I  could  see 
that  he  was  not  at  ease.  In  time,  for  he  was  then  almost 
as  difficult  to  move  as  one  of  my  own  countrymen,  I  ex- 
tracted the  tale — simple  in  its  extravagance,  extrava- 
gant in  its  simplicity.  It  seemed  that  Hackman  of  the 
British  Museum  had  been  staying  with  him  about  ten 
days  before,  boasting  of  scarabs.  Hackman  has  a  way 
of  carrying  really  priceless  antiquities  on  his  tie-ring 
and  in  his  trouser  pockets.  Apparently,  he  had  inter- 
cepted something  on  its  way  to  the  Boulak  Museum 
which,  he  said,  was  'a  genuine  Amen-Hotep — a  queen's 
scarab  of  the  Fourth  Dynasty.'  Now  Wilton  had 
bought  from  Cassavetti,  whose  reputation  is  not  above 
suspicion,  a  scarab  of  much  the  same  scarabeousness, 
and  had  left  it  in  his  London  chambers.  Hackman  at  a 
venture,  but  knowing  Cassavetti,  pronounced  it  an  im- 
position. There  was  long  discussion — savant  versus 
millionaire,  one  saying:  'But  I  know  it  cannot  be';  and 

293 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

the  other:  'But  I  can  and  will  prove  it.'  Wilton  found 
it  necessary  for  his  soul's  satisfaction  to  go  up  to  town, 
then  and  there— a  forty-mile  run — and  bring  back  the 
scarab  before  dinner.  It  was  at  this  point  that  he  be- 
gan to  cut  corners  with  disastrous  results.  Amberley 
Royal  station  being  five  miles  away,  and  the  putting  in 
of  horses  a  matter  of  time,  Wilton  had  told  Howard,  the 
immaculate  butler,  to  signal  the  next  train  to  stop;  and 
Howard,  who  was  more  of  a  man  of  resource  than  his 
master  gave  him  credit  for,  had,  with  the  red  flag  of  the 
ninth  hole  of  the  links  which  crossed  the  bottom  of  the 
lawn,  signalled  vehemently  to  the  first  up-train,  and  it 
had  stopped.  Here  Wilton's  account  became  confused. 
He  attempted,  it  seems,  to  get  into  that  highly  indignant 
express,  and  a  guard  restrained  him  with  more  or  less 
force — hauled  him,  in  fact,  backwards  from  the  window 
of  a  locked  carriage.  Wilton  must  have  struck  the 
gravel  with  some  vehemence,  for  the  consequences,  he 
admitted,  were  a  free  fight  on  the  line,  in  which  he  lost 
his  hat,  and  was  at  last  dragged  into  the  guard's  van  and 
set  down  breathless. 

He  had  pressed  money  upon  the  man,  and  very 
foolishly  had  explained  everything  but  his  name.  This 
he  clung  to,  for  he  had  a  vision  of  tall  head-lines  in  the 
New  York  papers,  and  well  knew  no  son  of  Merton 
Sargent  could  expect  mercy  that  side  the  water.  The 
guard,  to  Wilton's  amazement,  refused  the  money  on 
the  grounds  that  this  was  a  matter  for  the  Company  to 
attend  to.  Wilton  insisted  on  his  incognito,  and,  there- 
fore, found  two  policemen  waiting  for  him  at  St.  Botolph 
terminus.  When  he  expressed  a  wish  to  buy  a  new  hat 
and  telegraph  to  his  friends,  both  policemen  with  one 
voice  warned  him  that  whatever  he  said  would  be  used 

294 


AN  ERROR  IN  THE  FOURTH  DIMENSION 

as  evidence  against  him;  and  this  had  impressed  Wilton 
tremendously. 

'They  were  so  infernally  polite,'  he  said.  'If  they 
had  clubbed  me  I  wouldn't  have  cared;  but  it  was, 
"Step  this  way,  sir,"  and,  "Up  those  stairs,  please,  sir," 
till  they  jailed  me — jailed  me  like  a  common  drunk,  and  I 
had  to  stay  in  a  filthy  little  cubby-hole  of  a  ceil  all  night.' 

'That  comes  of  not  giving  your  name  and  not  wiring 
your  lawyer,'  I  replied.     '  What  did  you  get? ' 

'Forty  shillings  or  a  month,'  said  Walton,  promptly, 
— '  next  morning  bright  and  early.  They  were  working 
us  off,  three  a  minute.  A  girl  in  a  pink  hat — she  was 
brought  in  at  three  in  the  morning — got  ten  days.  I 
suppose  I  was  lucky.  I  must  have  knocked  his  senses 
out  of  the  guard.  He  told  the  old  duck  on  the  bench 
that  I  had  told  him  I  was  a  sergeant  in  the  army,  and 
that  I  was  gathering  beetles  on  the  track.  That  comes 
of  trying  to  explain  to  an  Englishman.' 

'And  you?' 

'Oh,  I  said  nothing.  I  wanted  to  get  out.  I  paid 
my  fme,  and  bought  a  new  hat,  and  came  up  here  before 
noon  next  morning.  There  were  a  lot  of  people  in  the 
house,  and  I  told  'em  I'd  been  unavoidably  detained, 
and  then  they  began  to  recollect  engagements  elsewhere. 
Hackman  must  have  seen  the  fight  on  the  track  and 
made  a  story  of  it.  I  suppose  they  thought  it  was  dis- 
tinctly American — confound  'em!  It's  the  only  time 
in  my  life  that  I've  ever  flagged  a  train,  and  I  wouldn't 
have  done  it  but  for  that  scarab.  'Twouldn't  hurt  their 
old  trains  to  be  held  up  once  in  a  while.' 

'  Well,  it's  all  over  now,'  I  said,  choking  a  little.  '  And 
your  name  didn't  get  into  the  papers.  It  is  rather  trans- 
atlantic when  you  come  to  think  of  it.' 

295 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'Over!'  Wilton  grunted  savagely.  'It's  only  just 
begun.  That  trouble  with  the  guard  was  just  common, 
ordinary  assault — merely  a  little  criminal  business.  The 
flagging  of  the  train  is  civil,  and  means  something  quite 
dilTerent.     They're  after  me  for  that  now.' 

'Who?' 

'The  Great  Buchonian.  There  was  a  man  in  court 
watching  the  case  on  behalf  of  the  Company.  I  gave 
him  my  name  in  a  quiet  corner  before  I  bought  my  hat, 
and — come  to  dinner  now;  I'll  show  you  the  results 
afterwards.' 

The  telling  of  his  wrongs  had  worked  Wilton  Sargent 
into  a  very  fme  temper,  and  I  do  not  think  that  my 
conversation  soothed  him.  In  the  course  of  the  dinner, 
prompted  by  a  devil  of  pure  mischief,  I  dwelt  with  lov- 
ing insistence  on  certain  smells  and  sounds  of  New  York 
which  go  straight  to  the  heart  of  the  native  in  foreign 
parts;  and  Wilton  began  to  ask  many  questions  about 
his  associates  aforetime — men  of  the  New  York  Yacht 
Club,  Storm  King,  or  the  Restigouche,  owners  of  rivers, 
ranches,  and  shipping  in  their  playtime,  lords  of  railways, 
kerosene,  wheat,  and  cattle  in  their  ofTices.  When  the 
green  mint  came,  I  gave  him  a  peculiarly  oily  and  atro- 
cious cigar,  of  the  brand  they  sell  in  the  tessellated, 
electric-lighted,  with  expensive-pictures-of-the-nude- 
adorned  bar  of  the  Pandemonium,  and  Wilton  chewed 
the  end  for  several  minutes  ere  he  lit  it.  The  butler 
left  us  alone,  and  the  chimney  of  the  oak-panelled  dining- 
room  began  to  smoke. 

'That's  another!'  said  he,  poking  the  fire  savagely, 
and  I  knew  what  he  meant.  One  cannot  put  steam- 
heat  in  houses  where  Queen  Elizabeth  slept.  The 
steady  beat  of  a  night-mail,  whirling  down  the  valley, 

296 


AN  ERROR  IN  THE  FOURTH  DIMENSION 

recalled  me  to  business.  'What  about  the  Great  Bu- 
chonian?'  I  said. 

'  Come  into  my  study.     That's  all — as  yet.' 

It  was  a  pile  of  Seidlitz-powders-coloured  correspon- 
dence, perhaps  nine  inches  high,  and  it  looked  very 
business-like. 

'You  can  go  through  it,'  said  Wilton.  'Now  I  could 
take  a  chair  and  a  red  flag  and  go  into  Hyde  Park  and 
say  the  most  atrocious  things  about  your  Queen,  and 
preach  anarchy  and  all  that,  y'  know,  till  I  was  hoarse, 
and  no  one  would  take  any  notice.  The  Police — damn 
'em ! — would  protect  me  if  I  got  into  trouble.  But  for  a 
little  thing  like  flagging  a  dirty  little  sawed-off  train, — 
running  through  my  own  grounds,  too, — I  get  the  whole 
British  Constitution  down  on  me  as  if  I  sold  bombs.  I 
don't  understand  it.' 

'No  more  does  the  Great  Buchonian — apparently.' 
I  was  turning  over  the  letters.  'Here's  the  traflTic 
superintendent  writing  that  it's  utterly  incompre- 
hensible that  any  man  should  .  .  .  Good  Heavens, 
Wilton,  you  have  done  it!'  I  giggled,  as  I  read 
on. 

'What's  funny  now?'  said  my  host. 

'It  seems  that  you,  or  Howard  for  you,  stopped  the 
three-forty  Northern  up.' 

'  I  ought  to  know  that !  They  all  had  their  knife  into 
me,  from  the  engine-driver  up.' 

'But  it's  the  three-forty — the  "Induna."  Surely 
you've  heard  of  the  Great  Buchonian's  "Induna"?' 

'  How  the  deuce  am  I  to  know  one  train  from  another? 
They  come  along  about  every  two  minutes.' 

'Quite  so.  But  this  happens  to  be  the  "Induna," 
the  one  train  of  the  whole  line.     She's  timed  for  fifty- 

297 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

seven  miles  an  hour.     She  was  put  on  early  in  the  Six- 
ties, and  she  has  never  been  stopped — ' 

'I  know!  Since  William  the  Conqueror  came  over, 
or  King  Charles  hid  in  her  smoke-stack.  You're  as  bad 
as  the  rest  of  these  Britishers.  If  she's  been  run  all  that 
while,  it's  time  she  was  flagged  once  or  twice.' 

The  American  was  beginning  to  ooze  out  all  over 
Wilton,  and  his  small-boned  hands  were  moving  rest- 
lessly. 

'  Suppose  you  flagged  the  Empire  State  Express,  or  the 
Western  Cyclone? ' 

'Suppose  I  did.  I  know  Otis  Harvey — or  used  to. 
I'd  send  him  a  wire,  and  he'd  understand  it  was  a  ground- 
hog case  with  me.  That's  exactly  what  I  told  this 
British  fossil  company  here.' 

'  Have  you  been  answering  their  letters  without  legal 
advice,  then? ' 

*  Of  course  I  have.' 

'  Oh,  my  sainted  Country !     Go  ahead,  Wilton.' 

'  I  wrote  'em  that  I'd  be  very  happy  to  see  their  presi- 
dent and  explain  to  him  in  three  words  all  about  it;  but 
that  wouldn't  do.  'Seems  their  president  must  be  a 
god.  He  was  too  busy,  and — well,  you  can  read  for 
yourself — they  wanted  explanations.  The  station- 
master  at  Amberley  Royal — and  he  grovels  before  me, 
as  a  rule — wanted  an  explanation,  and  quick,  too.  The 
head  sachem  at  St.  Botolph's  wanted  three  or  four,  and 
the  Lord  High  Mukkamuk  that  oils  the  locomotives 
wanted  one  every  fine  day.  I  told  'em — I've  told  'em 
about  fifty  times — I  stopped  their  holy  and  sacred  train 
because  I  wanted  to  board  her.  Did  they  think  I 
wanted  to  feel  her  pulse? ' 

*You  didn't  say  that?' 

298 


AN  ERROR  IN  THE  FOURTH  DIMENSION 

'  "Feel  her  pulse"?     Of  course  not.' 

'No.     "Board  her.'" 

'What  else  could  I  say?' 

'My  dear  Wilton,  what  is  the  use  of  Mrs.  Sherborne, 
and  the  Clays,  and  all  that  lot  working  over  you  for  four 
years  to  make  an  Englishman  out  of  you,  if  the  very 
first  time  you're  rattled  you  go  back  to  the  vernacular?' 

'I'm  through  with  Mrs.  Sherborne  and  the  rest  of  the 
crowd.  America's  good  enough  for  me.  What  ought 
I  to  have  said?     "Please,"  or  "thanks  awf'ly,"  or  how?' 

There  was  no  chance  now  of  mistaking  the  man's 
nationality.  Speech,  gesture,  and  step,  so  carefully 
drilled  into  him,  had  gone  away  with  the  borrowed  mask 
of  indifference.  It  was  a  lawful  son  of  the  Youngest 
People,  whose  predecessors  were  the  Red  Indian.  His 
voice  had  risen  to  the  high,  throaty  crow  of  his  breed 
when  they  labour  under  excitement.  His  close-set  eyes 
showed  by  turns  unnecessary  fear,  annoyance  beyond 
reason,  rapid  and  purposeless  flights  of  thought,  the 
child's  lust  for  immediate  revenge,  and  the  child's  pa- 
thetic bewilderment,  who  knocks  his  head  against  the 
bad,  wicked  table.  And  on  the  other  side,  I  knew, 
stood  the  Company,  as  unable  as  Wilton  to  understand. 

'And  I  could  buy  their  old  road  three  times  over,'  he 
muttered,  playing  with  a  paper-knife,  and  moving  rest- 
lessly to  and  fro. 

'You  didn't  tell  'em  that,  I  hope!' 

There  was  no  answer;  but  as  I  went  through  the 
letters,  I  felt  that  Wilton  must  have  told  them  many 
surprising  things.  The  Great  Buchonian  had  first 
asked  for  an  explanation  of  the  stoppage  of  their  Induna, 
and  had  found  a  certain  levity  in  the  explanation  ten- 
dered.    It  then  advised  'Mr.  W.  Sargent'  to  refer  his 

299 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

solicitor  to  their  solicitor,  or  whatever  the  legal  phrase 
is. 

'And  you  didn't?'  I  said,  looking  up. 

'No.  They  were  treating  me  exactly  as  if  I  had  been 
a  kid  playing  on  the  cable-tracks.  There  was  not  the 
least  necessity  for  any  solicitor.  Five  minutes'  quiet 
talk  would  have  settled  everything.' 

I  returned  to  the  correspondence.  The  Great  Bu- 
chonian  regretted  that  owing  to  pressure  of  business  none 
of  their  directors  could  accept  Mr.  \V.  Sargent's  invita- 
tion to  run  down  and  discuss  the  difficulty.  The  Great 
Buchonian  was  careful  to  point  out  that  no  animus 
underlay  their  action,  nor  was  money  their  object. 
Their  duty  was  to  protect  the  interests  of  their  line,  and 
these  interests  could  not  be  protected  if  a  precedent 
were  established  whereby  any  of  the  Queen's  subjects 
could  stop  a  train  in  mid-career.  Again  (this  was  an- 
other branch  of  the  correspondence,  not  more  than  five 
heads  of  departments  being  concerned),  the  Company 
admitted  that  there  was  some  reasonable  doubt  as  to 
the  duties  of  express-trains  in  all  crises,  and  the  matter 
was  open  to  settlement  by  process  of  law  till  an  authori- 
tative ruling  was  obtained — from  the  House  of  Lords,  if 
necessary. 

'That  broke  me  all  up,'  said  Wilton,  who  was  reading 
over  my  shoulder.  'I  knew  I'd  struck  the  British  Con- 
stitution at  last.  The  House  of  Lords — my  Lord! 
And,  anyway,  I'm  not  one  of  the  Queen's  subjects.' 

*  W'hy,  I  had  a  notion  that  you'd  got  yourself  natural- 
ised.' 

Wilton  blushed  hotly  as  he  explained  that  very  many 
things  must  happen  to  the  British  Constitution  ere  he 
took  out  his  papers. 

300 


AN  ERROR  IN  THE  FOURTH  DIMENSION 

'How  does  it  all  strike  you?'  he  said.  'Isn't  the 
Great  Buchonian  crazy?' 

'I  don't  know.  You've  done  something  that  no  one 
ever  thought  of  doing  before,  and  the  Company  don't 
know  what  to  make  of  it.  I  see  they  offer  to  send  down 
their  solicitor  and  another  official  of  the  Company  to 
talk  things  over  informally.  Then  here's  another  letter 
suggesting  that  you  put  up  a  fourteen-foot  wall,  crowned 
with  bottle-glass,  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden.' 

'Talk  of  British  insolence!  The  man  who  recom- 
mends that  (he's  another  bloated  functionary)  says 
that  I  shall  "derive  great  pleasure  from  watching  the 
wall  going  up  day  by  day"!  Did  you  ever  dream  of 
such  gall?  I've  offered  'em  money  enough  to  buy  a 
new  set  of  cars  and  pension  the  driver  for  three  genera- 
tions; but  that  doesn't  seem  to  be  what  they  want. 
They  expect  me  to  go  to  the  House  of  Lords  and  get  a 
ruling,  and  build  walls  between  times.  Are  they  all 
stark,  raving  mad?  One  'ud  think  I  made  a  profession 
of  flagging  trains.  How  in  Tophet  was  I  to  know  their 
old  Induna  from  a  way-train?  I  took  the  first  that 
came  along,  and  I've  been  jailed  and  fined  for  that  once 
already.' 

'That  was  for  slugging  the  guard.' 

*He  had  no  right  to  haul  me  out  when  I  was  half-way 
through  a  window.' 

*  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it? ' 

'Their  lawyer  and  the  other  official  (can't  they  trust 
their  men  unless  they  send  'em  in  pairs?)  are  coming 
here  to-night.  I  told  'em  I  was  busy,  as  a  rule,  till  after 
dinner,  but  they  might  send  along  the  entire  directorate 
if  it  eased  'em  any.' 

Now,  after-dinner  visiting,  for  business  or  pleasure, 

301 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

is  the  custom  of  the  smaller  American  town,  and  not 
that  of  England,  where  the  end  of  the  day  is  sacred  to 
the  owner.  Verily,  Wilton  Sargent  had  hoisted  the 
striped  flag  of  rebellion ! 

'  Isn't  it  time  that  the  humour  of  the  situation  began 
to  strike  you,  Wilton?'  I  asked. 

'Where's  the  humour  of  baiting  an  American  citizen 
just  because  he  happens  to  be  a  millionaire — poor  devil ! ' 
He  was  silent  for  a  little  time,  and  then  went  on:  'Of 
course.  Now  I  see!'  He  spun  round  and  faced  me 
excitedly.  '  It's  as  plain  as  mud.  These  ducks  are  lay- 
ing their  pipes  to  skin  me.' 

'They  say  explicitly  they  don't  want  money!' 

'  That's  all  a  blind.  So's  their  addressing  me  as  W.  Sar- 
gent. They  know  well  enough  who  I  am.  They  know  I'm 
the  old  man's  son.   Why  didn't  I  think  of  that  before? ' 

'One  minute,  Wilton.  If  you  climbed  to  the  top  of 
the  dome  of  St.  Paul's,  and  offered  a  reward  to  any 
Englishman  who  could  tell  you  who  or  what  Merton 
Sargent  had  been,  there  wouldn't  be  twenty  men  in  all 
London  to  claim  it.' 

'That's  their  insular  provincialism,  then.  I  don't 
care  a  cent.  The  old  man  would  have  wrecked  the 
Great  Buchonian  before  breakfast  for  a  pipe-opener. 
My  God,  I'll  do  it  in  dead  earnest!  I'll  show  'em  that 
they  can't  bulldose  a  foreigner  for  flagging  one  of  their 
little  tin-pot  trains,  and — I've  spent  fifty  thousand  a 
year  here,  at  least,  for  the  last  four  years.' 

I  was  glad  I  was  not  his  lawyer.  I  re-read  the  corre- 
spondence, notably  the  letter  which  recommended  him — 
almost  tenderly,  I  fancied — to  build  a  fourteen-foot 
brick  wall  at  the  end  of  his  garden,  and  half-way  through 
it  a  thought  struck  me  which  filled  me  with  pure  joy. 

302 


AN  ERROR  IN  THE  FOURTH  DIMENSION 

The  footman  ushered  in  two  men,  frock-coated,  gray- 
trousered,  smooth-shaven,  heavy  of  speech  and  gait.  It 
was  nearly  nine  o'clock,  but  they  looked  as  newly  come 
from  a  bath.  I  could  not  understand  why  the  elder 
and  taller  of  the  pair  glanced  at  me  as  though  we  had  an 
understanding,  nor  why  he  shook  hands  with  an  un- 
English  warmth. 

'This  simplifies  the  situation,'  he  said  in  an  undertone, 
and,  as  I  stared,  he  whispered  to  his  companion : '  I  fear  I 
shall  be  of  very  little  service  at  present.  Perhaps  Mr. 
Folsom  had  better  talk  over  the  affair  with  Mr.  Sargent.' 

'That  is  what  I  am  here  for,'  said  Wilton. 

The  man  of  law  smiled  pleasantly,  and  said  that  he 
saw  no  reason  why  the  difTiculty  should  not  be  arranged 
in  two  minutes'  quiet  talk.  His  air,  as  he  sat  down 
opposite  Wilton,  was  soothing  to  the  last  degree.  His 
companion  drew  me  up-stage.  The  mystery  was  deep- 
ening, but  I  followed  meekly,  and  heard  Wilton  say,  with 
an  uneasy  laugh : 

'I've  had  insomnia  over  this  affair,  Mr.  Folsom. 
Let's  settle  it  one  way  or  the  other,  for  heaven's  sake!' 

*Ah!  Has  he  suffered  much  from  this  lately?'  said 
my  man,  with  a  preliminary  cough. 

'  I  really  can't  say,'  I  replied. 

'Then  I  suppose  you  have  only  taken  charge  here?' 

'  I  came  this  evening.  I  am  not  exactly  in  charge  of 
anything.' 

*I  see.  Merely  to  observe  the  course  of  events — in 
case — '     He  nodded. 

'Exactly.'     Observation,  after  all,  is  my  trade. 

He  coughed  again  slightly,  and  then  came  to  business. 

'Now, — I  am  asking  solely  for  information's  sake, — 
do  you  find  the  delusions  persistent? ' 

303 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

*  Which  delusions? ' 

'They  are  variable,  then.  That  is  distinctly  curious, 
because — but  do  I  understand  that  the  type  of  the 
delusion  varies?  For  example,  Mr.  Sargent  believes 
that  he  can  buy  the  Great  Buchonian.' 

'  Did  he  write  you  that? ' 

'He  made  the  offer  to  the  Company — on  a  half-sheet 
of  notepaper.  Now,  has  he  by  chance  gone  to  the 
other  extreme,  and  believed  that  he  is  in  danger  of  be- 
coming a  pauper?  The  curious  economy  in  the  use  of  a 
half-sheet  of  paper  shows  that  some  idea  of  that  kind 
might  have  flashed  through  his  mind;  and  the  two  de- 
lusions can  coexist,  but  it  is  not  common.  As  you  must 
know,  the  delusion  of  vast  wealth — the  folly  of  gran- 
deurs, I  believe  our  friends  the  French  call  it — is,  as  a 
rule,  persistent,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  others.' 

Then  I  heard  Wilton's  best  English  voice  at  the  end 
of  the  study : 

'  My  dear  sir,  I  have  explained  twenty  times  already,  I 
wanted  toget  that  scarab  in  time  for  dinner.  Supposeyou 
had  left  an  important  legal  document  in  the  same  way? ' 

'That  touch  of  cunning  is  very  significant,'  my  fellow- 
practitioner — since  he  insisted  on  it — muttered. 

'  I  am  very  happy,  of  course,  to  meet  you ;  but  if  you 
had  only  sent  your  president  down  to  dinner  here,  I 
could  have  settled  the  thing  in  half  a  minute.  Wliy,  I 
could  have  bought  the  Buchonian  from  him  while  your 
clerks  were  sending  me  this.'  Wilton  dropped  his  hand 
heavily  on  the  blue  and  white  correspondence,  and  the 
lawyer  started. 

'But,  speaking  frankly,'  the  lawyer  replied,  'it  is,  if  I 
may  say  so,  perfectly  inconceivable,  even  in  the  case  of 
the  most  important  legal  documents,  that  any  one 

304 


AN  ERROR  IN  THE  FOURTH  DIMENSION 

should  stop  the  three-forty  express — the  Induna — our 
Induna,  my  dear  sir.' 

'Absolutely!'  my  companion  echoed;  then  to  me  in  a 
lower  tone:  'You  notice,  again,  the  persistent  delusion 
of  wealth.  I  was  called  in  when  he  wrote  us  that. 
You  can  see  it  is  utterly  impossible  for  the  Company  to 
continue  to  run  their  trains  through  the  property  of  a 
man  who  may  at  any  moment  fancy  himself  divinely 
commissioned  to  stop  all  traffic.  If  he  had  only  referred 
us  to  his  lawyer — but,  naturally,  that  he  would  not  do 
under  the  circumstances.  A  pity — a  great  pity.  He 
is  so  young.  By  the  way,  it  is  curious,  is  it  not,  to  note 
the  absolute  conviction  in  the  voice  of  those  who  are 
similarly  afflicted, — heart-rending,  I  might  say, — and 
the  inability  to  follow  a  chain  of  connected  thought.' 

'  I  can't  see  what  you  want,'  Wilton  was  saying  to  the 
lawyer. 

'  It  need  not  be  more  than  fourteen  feet  high — a  really 
desirable  structure,  and  it  would  be  possible  to  grow 
pear-trees  on  the  sunny  side.'  The  lawyer  was  speak- 
ing in  an  unprofessional  voice.  'There  are  few  things 
pleasanter  than  to  watch,  so  to  say,  one's  own  vine  and 
fig-tree  in  full  bearing.  Consider  the  profit  and  amuse- 
ment you  would  derive  from  it.  If  you  could  see  your 
way  to  doing  this,  we  could  arrange  all  the  details  with 
your  lawyer,  and  it  is  possible  that  the  Company  might 
bear  some  of  the  cost.  I  have  put  the  matter,  I  trust, 
in  a  nutshell.  If  you,  my  dear  sir,  will  interest  yourself 
in  building  that  wall,  and  will  kindly  give  us  the  name 
of  your  lawyers,  I  dare  assure  you  that  you  will  hear  no 
more  from  the  Great  Buchonian.' 

*  But  why  am  I  to  disfigure  my  lawn  with  a  new  brick 
wall?' 

305 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'Gray  flint  is  extremely  picturesque.' 

'Gray  flint,  then,  if  you  put  it  that  way.  Why  the 
dickens  must  I  go  building  towers  of  Babylon  just  be- 
cause I  have  held  up  one  of  your  trains — once?' 

'The  expression  he  used  in  his  third  letter  w^as  that  he 
wished  to  "board  her,"'  said  my  companion  in  my  ear. 
'That  was  very  curious — a  marine  delusion  impinging, 
as  it  were,  upon  a  land  one.  What  a  marvellous  world 
he  must  move  in — and  will  before  the  curtain  falls.  So 
young,  too — so  very  young ! ' 

'Well,  if  you  want  the  plain  English  of  it,  I'm  damned 
if  I  go  wall-building  to  your  order.  You  can  fight  it  all 
along  the  line,  into  the  House  of  Lords  and  out  again, 
and  get  your  rulings  by  the  running  foot  if  you  like,' 
said  Wilton,  hotly.  '  Great  heavens,  man,  I  only  did  it 
once!' 

'  We  have  at  present  no  guarantee  that  you  may  not 
do  it  again;  and,  with  our  traffic,  we  must,  in  justice  to 
our  passengers,  demand  some  form  of  guarantee.  It 
must  not  serve  as  a  precedent.  All  this  might  have 
been  saved  if  you  had  only  referred  us  to  your  legal 
representative.'  The  lawyer  looked  appealingly  around 
the  room.     The  deadlock  was  complete. 

'Wilton,'  I  asked,  'may  I  try  my  hand  now?' 

'Anything  you  like,'  said  Wilton.  'It  seems  I  can't 
talk  English.  I  won't  build  any  wall,  though.'  He 
threw  himself  back  in  his  chair. 

'Gentlemen,'  I  said  deliberately,  for  I  perceived  that 
the  doctor's  mind  would  turn  slowly,  '  Mr.  Sargent  has 
very  large  interests  in  the  chief  railway  systems  of  his 
own  country.' 

'  His  own  country? '  said  the  lawyer. 

'At  that  age?'  said  the  doctor. 

306 


AN  ERROR  IN  THE  FOURTH  DIMENSION 

'Certainly.  He  inherited  them  from  his  father,  Mr. 
Sargent,  who  is  an  American.' 

'And  proud  of  it,'  said  Wilton,  as  though  he  had  been 
a  Western  Senator  let  loose  on  the  Continent  for  the  first 
time. 

'My  dear  sir,'  said  the  lawyer,  half  rising,  'why  did 
you  not  acquaint  the  Company  with  this  fact — this 
vital  fact — early  in  our  correspondence?  We  should 
have  understood.     We  should  have  made  allowances.' 

'Allowances  be  damned!  Am  I  a  Red  Indian  or  a 
lunatic?' 

The  two  men  looked  guilty. 

'If  Mr.  Sargent's  friend  had  told  us  as  much  in  the 
beginning,'  said  the  doctor,  very  severely,  'much  might 
have  been  saved.'  Alas!  I  had  made  a  life's  enemy  of 
that  doctor. 

'I  hadn't  a  chance,'  I  replied.  'Now,  of  course,  you 
can  see  that  a  man  who  owns  several  thousand  miles  of 
line,  as  Mr.  Sargent  does,  would  be  apt  to  treat  railways 
a  shade  more  casually  than  other  people.' 

'Of  course;  of  course.  He  is  an  American;  that  ac- 
counts. Still,  it  was  the  Induna;  but  I  can  quite  under- 
stand that  the  customs  of  our  cousins  across  the  water 
differ  in  these  particulars  from  ours.  And  do  you  al- 
ways stop  trains  in  this  way  in  the  States,  Mr.  Sar- 
gent?' 

'I  should  if  occasion  ever  arose;  but  I've  never  had  to 
yet.  Are  you  going  to  make  an  international  complica- 
tion of  the  business? ' 

'You  need  give  yourself  no  further  concern  whatever 
in  the  matter.  We  see  that  there  is  no  likelihood  of 
this  action  of  yours  establishing  a  precedent,  which  was 
the  only  thing  we  were  afraid  of.    Now  that  you  under- 

307 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

stand  that  we  cannot  reconcile  our  system  to  any  sudden 
stoppages,  we  feel  quite  sure  that — ' 

'  I  shan't  be  staying  long  enough  to  flag  another  train,' 
Wilton  said  pensively. 

'You  are  returning,  then,  to  our  fellow-kinsmen  across 
the — ah — big  pond,  you  call  it?' 

'No,  sir.  The  ocean-^the  North  Atlantic  Ocean. 
It's  three  thousand  miles  broad,  and  three  miles  deep  in 
places.     I  wish  it  were  ten  thousand.' 

'I  am  not  so  fond  of  sea-travel  myself;  but  I  think  it 
is  every  Englishman's  duty  once  in  his  life  to  study  the 
great  branch  of  our  Anglo-Saxon  race  across  the  ocean,' 
said  the  lawyer. 

'  If  ever  you  come  over,  and  care  to  flag  any  train  on 
my  system,  I'll — I'll  see  you  through,'  said  Wilton. 

'Thank  you — ah,  thank  you.  You're  very  kind. 
I'm  sure  I  should  enjoy  myself  immensely.' 

'We  have  overlooked  the  fact,'  the  doctor  whispered 
to  me,  'that  your  friend  proposed  to  buy  the  Great 
Buchonian.' 

'He  is  worth  anything  from  twenty  to  thirty  million 
dollars — four  to  five  million  pounds,'  I  answered,  know- 
ing that  it  would  be  hopeless  to  explain. 

'Really!  That  is  enormous  wealth,  but  the  Great 
Buchonian  is  not  in  the  market.' 

'  Perhaps  he  does  not  want  to  buy  it  now.' 

'It  would  be  impossible  under  any  circumstances,' 
said  the  doctor. 

'How  characteristic!'  murmured  the  lawyer,  review- 
ing matters  in  his  mind.  'I  always  understood  from 
books  that  your  countrymen  were  in  a  hurry.  And 
so  you  would  have  gone  forty  miles  to  town  and  back — 
before  dinner — to  get  a  scarab?    How  intensely  Ameri- 

308 


AN  EHFxOR  IN  THE  FOURTH  DIMENSION 

can!  But  you  talk  exactly  like  an  Englishman,  Mr. 
Sargent.' 

'That  is  a  fault  that  can  be  remedied.  There's  only 
one  question  I'd  like  to  ask  you.  You  said  it  was  in- 
conceivable that  any  man  should  stop  a  train  on  your 
system?' 

'And  so  it  is — absolutely  inconceivable.' 

'Any  sane  man,  that  is?' 

'That  is  what  I  meant,  of  course.  I  mean,  with 
excep — ' 

'Thank  you.' 

The  two  men  departed.  Wilton  checked  himself  as 
he  was  about  to  fill  a  pipe,  took  one  of  my  cigars  instead, 
and  was  silent  for  fifteen  minutes. 

Then  said  he:  'Have  you  got  a  list  of  the  Southamp- 
ton sailings  on  you?' 

Far  away  from  the  graystone  wings,  the  dark  cedars, 
the  faultless  gravel  drives,  and  the  mint-sauce  lawns 
of  Holt  Hangars  runs  a  river  called  the  Hudson,  whose 
unkempt  banks  are  covered  with  the  palaces  of  those 
wealthy  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice.  Here,  where  the 
hoot  of  the  Haverstraw  brick-barge-tug  answers  the  howl 
of  the  locomotive  on  either  shore,  you  shall  find,  with  a 
complete  installation  of  electric-light,  nickel-plated  bin- 
nacles, and  a  calliope  attachment  to  her  steam-whistle, 
the  twelve-hundred-ton  ocean-going  steam-yacht  'Co- 
lumbia,' lying  at  her  private  pier,  to  take  to  his  office 
at  an  average  speed  of  seventeen  knots, — and  the  barges 
can  look  out  for  themselves, — Wilton  Sargent,  Amer- 
ican. 


309 


MY  SUNDAY  AT  HOME 

(1895) 

If  the  Red  Slayer  thinks  he  slays, 
Or  if  the  slain  thinks  he  is  slain, 

They  know  not  well  the  subtle  way 
I  keep  and  pass  and  turn  again. 

Emerson. 

IT  was  the  unreproducible  slid  'r,'  as  he  said  this  was 
his  'fy-ist'  visit  to  England,  that  told  me  he  was  a 
New  Yorker  from  New  York;  and  when,  in  the 
course  of  our  long,  lazy  journey  westward  from  Water- 
loo, he  enlarged  upon  the  beauties  of  his  city,  I,  profess- 
ing ignorance,  said  no  word.  He  had,  amazed  and  de- 
lighted at  the  man's  civility,  given  the  London  porter  a 
shilling  for  carrying  his  bag  nearly  fifty  yards;  he  had 
thoroughly  investigated  the  first-class  lavatory  com- 
partment, which  the  London  and  South- Western  some- 
times supply  without  extra  charge;  and  now,  half  awed, 
half  contemptuous,  but  wholly  interested,  he  looked 
out  upon  the  ordered  English  landscape  wrapped  in  its 
Sunday  peace,  while  I  watched  the  wonder  grow  upon 
his  face.  Why  were  the  cars  so  short  and  stilted? 
Why  had  every  other  freight  car  a  tarpaulin  drawn  over 
it?  What  wages  would  an  engineer  get  now?  Where 
was  the  swarming  population  of  England  he  had  read  so 

310 


MY  SUNDAY  AT  HOME 

much  about?  What  was  the  rank  of  all  those  men  on 
tricycles  along  the  roads?  When  were  we  due  at  Plym- 
outh? 

I  told  him  all  I  knew,  and  very  much  that  I  did  not. 
He  was  going  to  Plymouth  to  assist  in  a  consultation 
upon  a  fellow-countryman  who  had  retired  to  a  place 
called  The  Hoe — was  that  up  town  or  down  town? — to 
recover  from  nervous  dyspepsia.  Yes,  he  himself  was  a 
doctor  by  profession,  and  how  any  one  in  England  could 
retain  any  nervous  disorder  passed  his  comprehension. 
Never  had  he  dreamed  of  an  atmosphere  so  soothing. 
Even  the  deep  rumble  of  London  traffic  was  monastical 
by  comparison  with  some  cities  he  could  name;  and  the 
country — why,  it  was  Paradise.  A  continuance  of  it, 
he  confessed,  would  drive  him  mad;  but  for  a  few  months 
it  was  the  most  sumptuous  rest  cure  in  his  knowledge. 

'I'll  come  over  every  year  after  this,'  he  said,  in  a 
burst  of  delight,  as  we  ran  between  two  ten-foot  hedges 
of  pink  and  white  may.  'It's  seeing  all  the  things  I've 
ever  read  about.  Of  course  it  doesn't  strike  you  that 
way.  I  presume  you  belong  here?  What  a  finished 
land  it  is!  It's  arrived.  Must  have  been  born  this 
way.     Now,  where  I  used  to  live — Hello!     What's  up?' 

The  train  stopped  in  a  blaze  of  sunshine  at  Framlyng- 
hame  Admiral,  which  is  made  up  entirely  of  the  name- 
board,  two  platforms,  and  an  overhead  bridge,  without 
even  the  usual  siding.  I  had  never  known  the  slowest 
of  locals  stop  here  before;  but  on  Sunday  all  things  are 
possible  to  the  London  and  South- Western.  One  could 
hear  the  drone  of  conversation  along  the  carriages,  and, 
scarcely  less  loud,  the  drone  of  the  bumble-bees  in  the 
wallflowers  up  the  bank.  My  companion  thrust  his 
head  through  the  window  and  sniffed  luxuriously. 

311 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'Where  are  we  now?'  said  he. 

'In  Wiltshire,'  said  I. 

'  Ah !  A  man  ought  to  be  able  to  write  novels  with  his 
left  hand  in  a  country  like  this.  Well,  w^ell!  And  so 
this  is  about  Tess's  country,  ain't  it?  I  feel  just  as  if  I 
were  in  a  book.  Say,  the  conduc — the  guard  has  some- 
thing on  his  mind.     What's  he  getting  at? ' 

The  splendid  badged  and  belted  guard  was  striding 
up  the  platform  at  the  regulation  official  pace,  and  in 
the  regulation  official  voice  was  saying  at  each  door — 

'Has  any  gentleman  here  a  bottle  of  medicine?  A 
gentleman  has  taken  a  bottle  of  poison  (laudanum)  by 
mistake.' 

Between  each  five  paces  he  looked  at  an  official  tele- 
gram in  his  hand,  refreshed  his  memory,  and  said  his  say. 
The  dreamy  look  on  my  companion's  face — he  had  gone 
far  away  with  Tess — passed  with  the  speed  of  a  snap- 
shutter.  After  the  manner  of  his  countrymen,  he  had 
risen  to  the  situation,  jerked  his  bag  down  from  the  over- 
head rail,  opened  it,  and  I  heard  the  click  of  bottles. 
*Find  out  where  the  man  is,'  he  said  briefly.  'I've  got 
something  here  that  will  fix  him — if  he  can  swallow  still.' 

Swiftly  I  fled  up  the  line  of  carriages  in  the  wake  of 
the  guard.  There  was  clamour  in  a  rear  compartment 
— the  voice  of  one  bellowing  to  be  let  out,  and  the  feet 
of  one  who  kicked.  With  the  tail  of  my  eye  I  saw  the 
New  York  doctor  hastening  thither,  bearing  in  his  hand 
a  blue  and  brimming  glass  from  the  lavatory  compart- 
ment. The  guard  I  found  scratching  his  head  unofficially, 
by  the  engine,  and  murmuring:  'Well,  I  put  a  bottle  of 
medicine  off  at  Andover,  I'm  sure  I  did.' 

'Better  say  it  again,  any'ow,'  said  the  driver.  'Or- 
ders is  orders.     Say  it  again.' 

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MY  SUNDAY  AT  HOME 

Once  more  the  guard  paced  back,  I,  anxious  to  at- 
tract his  attention,  trotting  at  his  heels. 

'In  a  minute — in  a  minute,  sir,'  he  said,  waving  an 
arm  capable  of  starting  all  the  traffic  on  the  London  and 
South-Western  Railway  at  a  wave.  'Has  any  gentle- 
man here  got  a  bottle  of  medicine?  A  gentleman  has 
taken  a  bottle  of  poison  (laudanum)  by  mistake.' 

'Where's  the  man?'  I  gasped. 

'Woking.  'Ere's  my  orders.'  He  showed  me  the 
telegram,  on  which  were  the  w^ords  to  be  said.  '  'E 
must  have  left  'is  bottle  in  the  train,  an'  took  another 
by  mistake.  'E's  been  wirin'  from  W^oking  awful,  an', 
now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I'm  nearly  sure  I  put  a  bottle 
of  medicine  off  at  Andover.' 

'Then  the  man  that  took  the  poison  isn't  in  the  train?' 

'Lord,  no,  sir.  No  one  didn't  take  poison  that  way. 
'E  took  it  away  with  'im,  in  'is  'ands.  'E's  wirin'  from 
Wokin'.  My  orders  was  to  ask  everybody  in  the  train, 
and  I  'ave,  an'  we're  four  minutes  late  now.  Are  you 
comin'  on,  sir?     No?     Right  be'ind!' 

There  is  nothing,  unless,  perhaps,  the  English  lan- 
guage, more  terrible  than  the  workings  of  an  English 
railway  line.  An  instant  before  it  seemed  as  though  we 
were  going  to  spend  all  eternity  at  Framlynghame  Ad- 
miral, and  now  I  was  watching  the  tail  of  the  train  dis- 
appear round  the  curve  of  the  cutting. 

But  I  was  not  alone.  On  the  one  bench  of  the  down 
platform  sat  the  largest  navvy  I  have  ever  seen  in  my 
life,  softened  and  made  affable  (for  he  smiled  gener- 
ously) with  liquor.  In  his  huge  hands  he  nursed  an 
empty  tumbler  marked  *L.  S.  W.  R.' — marked  also, 
internally,  with  streaks  of  blue-gray  sediment.  Before 
him,  a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  stood  the  doctor,  and  as  I 

313 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

came  within  earshot  this  is  what  I  heard  him  say:  'Just 
you  hold  on  to  your  patience  for  a  minute  or  two  longer, 
and  you'll  be  as  right  as  ever  you  were  in  your  life.  I'll 
stay  with  you  till  you're  better.' 

'Lord!  I'm  comfortable  enough,'  said  the  navv3\ 
'Never  felt  better  in  my  life.' 

Turning  to  me,  the  doctor  lowered  his  voice.  'He 
might  have  died  while  that  fool  conduc — guard  was 
saying  his  piece.  I've  fixed  him,  though.  The  stuff's 
due  in  about  five  minutes,  but  there's  a  heap  to  him.  I 
don't  see  how  we  can  make  him  take  exercise.' 

For  the  moment  I  felt  as  though  seven  pounds  of 
crushed  ice  had  been  neatly  applied  in  the  form  of  a 
compress  to  my  lower  stomach. 

'How — how  did  you  manage  it?'  I  gasped. 

'  I  asked  him  if  he'd  have  a  drink.  He  was  knocking 
spots  out  of  the  car— strength  of  his  constitution,  I 
suppose.  He  said  he'd  go  'most  anywhere  for  a  drink, 
so  I  lured  him  on  to  the  platform,  and  loaded  him  up. 
Cold-blooded  people  you  Britishers  are.  That  train's 
gone,  and  no  one  seemed  to  care  a  cent.' 

'We've  missed  it,'  I  said. 

He  looked  at  me  curiously. 

*  We'll  get  another  before  sundown,  if  that's  your  only 
trouble.     Say,  porter,  when's  the  next  train  down? ' 

'Seven  forty-five,'  said  the  one  porter,  and  passed  out 
through  the  wicket-gate  into  the  landscape.  It  was 
then  three-twenty  of  a  hot  and  sleepy  afternoon.  The 
station  was  absolutely  deserted.  The  navvy  had  closed 
his  eyes,  and  now  nodded. 

'That's  bad,'  said  the  doctor.  'The  man,  I  mean, 
not  the  train.  We  must  make  him  walk  somehow — 
walk  up  and  down.' 

314 


MY  SUNDAY  AT  HOME 

Swiftly  as  might  be,  I  explained  the  delicacy  of  the 
situation,  and  the  doctor  from  New  York  turned  a  full 
bronze-green.  Then  he  swore  comprehensively  at  the 
entire  fabric  of  our  glorious  Constitution,  cursing  the 
English  language,  root,  branch,  and  paradigm,  through 
its  most  obscure  derivatives.  His  coat  and  bag  lay  on 
the  bench  next  to  the  sleeper.  Thither  he  edged  cau- 
tiously, and  I  saw  treachery  in  his  eye. 

What  devil  of  delay  possessed  him  to  slip  on  his  spring 
overcoat,  I  cannot  tell.  They  say  a  slight  noise  rouses  a 
sleeper  more  surely  than  a  heavy  one,  and  scarcely  had 
the  doctor  settled  himself  in  his  sleeves  than  the  giant 
waked  and  seized  that  silk-faced  collar  in  a  hot  right 
hand.  There  was  rage  in  his  face — rage  and  the  realisa- 
tion of  new  emotions. 

'I'm — I'm  not  so  comfortable  as  I  were,'  he  said  from 
the  deeps  of  his  interior.  'You'll  wait  along  o'  me,  you 
will.'     He  breathed  heavily  through  shut  lips. 

Now,  if  there  was  one  thing  more  than  another  upon 
which  the  doctor  had  dwelt  in  his  conversation  with  me, 
it  was  upon  the  essential  law-abidingness,  not  to  say 
gentleness,  of  his  much-misrepresented  country.  And 
yet  (truly,  it  may  have  been  no  more  than  a  button  that 
irked  him)  I  saw  his  hand  travel  backwards  to  his  right 
hip,  clutch  at  something,  and  come  away  empty. 

'He  won't  kill  you,'  I  said.  'He'll  probably  sue  you 
in  court,  if  I  know  my  own  people.  Better  give  him 
some  money  from  time  to  time.' 

'If  he  keeps  quiet  till  the  stuff  gets  in  its  work,'  the 
doctor  answered,  '  I'm  all  right.  If  he  doesn't  .  .  . 
my  name  is  Emory — Julian  B.  Emory — 193  'Steenth 
Street,  corner  of  Madison  and — ' 

*I  feel  worse  than  I've  ever  felt,'  said  the  navvy, 

315 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

with  suddenness.    'What — did — you — give — me — the — 
drink— for?' 

The  matter  seemed  to  be  so  purely  personal  that  I 
withdrew  to  a  strategic  position  on  the  overhead  bridge, 
and,  abiding  in  the  exact  centre,  looked  on  from  afar. 

I  could  see  the  white  road  that  ran  across  the  shoulder 
of  Salisbury  Plain,  unshaded  for  mile  after  mile,  and  a 
dot  in  the  middle  distance,  the  back  of  the  one  porter 
returning  to  Framlynghame  Admiral,  if  such  a  place 
existed,  till  seven  forty-five.  The  bell  of  a  church  in- 
visible clanked  softly.  There  was  a  rustle  in  the  horse- 
chestnuts  to  the  left  of  the  line,  and  the  sound  of  sheep 
cropping  close. 

The  peace  of  Nirvana  lay  upon  the  land,  and,  brood- 
ing in  it,  my  elbow  on  the  warm  iron  girder  of  the  foot- 
bridge (it  is  a  forty-shilling  fme  to  cross  by  any  other 
means),  I  perceived,  as  never  before,  how  the  conse- 
quences of  our  acts  run  eternal  through  time  and  through 
space.  If  we  impinge  never  so  slightly  upon  the  life  of 
a  fellow-mortal,  the  touch  of  our  personality,  like  the 
ripple  of  a  stone  cast  into  a  pond,  widens  and  widens  in 
unending  circles  across  the  aeons,  till  the  far-off  gods 
themselves  cannot  say  where  action  ceases.  Also,  it 
was  I  who  had  silently  set  before  the  doctor  the  tumbler 
of  the  first-class  lavatory  compartment  now  speeding 
Plymouthward.  Yet  I  was,  in  spirit  at  least,  a  million 
leagues  removed  from  that  unhappy  man  of  another 
nationality,  who  had  chosen  to  thrust  an  inexpert  finger 
into  the  workings  of  an  alien  life.  The  machinery  was 
dragging  him  up  and  down  the  sunlit  platform.  The 
two  men  seemed  to  be  learning  polka-mazurkas  to- 
gether, and  the  burden  of  their  song,  borne  by  one  deep 
voice,  was :  *  What  did  you  give  me  the  drink  for? ' 

316 


MY  SUNDAY  AT  HOME 

I  saw  the  flash  of  silver  in  the  doctor's  hand.  The 
navvy  took  it  and  pocketed  it  with  his  left;  but  never 
for  an  instant  did  his  strong  right  leave  the  doctor's  coat- 
collar,  and  as  the  crisis  approached,  louder  and  louder 
rose  his  bull-like  roar:  'What  did  you  give  me  the  drink 
for?' 

They  drifted  under  the  great  twelve-inch  pinned 
timbers  of  the  footbridge  towards  the  bench,  and,  I 
gathered,  the  time  was  very  near  at  hand.  The  stuff 
was  getting  in  its  work.  Blue,  white,  and  blue  again, 
rolled  over  the  navvy's  face  in  waves,  till  all  settled  to 
one  rich  clay-bank  yellow  and-  -that  fell  which  fell. 

I  thought  of  the  blowing-up  of  Hell  Gate;  of  the  geysers 
in  the  Yellowstone  Park;  of  Jonah  and  his  whale;  but 
the  lively  original,  as  I  watched  it  foreshortened  from 
above,  exceeded  all  these  things.  He  staggered  to  the 
bench,  the  heavy  wooden  seat  cramped  with  iron  cramps 
into  the  enduring  stone,  and  clung  there  with  his  left 
hand.  It  quivered  and  shook,  as  a  breakwater-pile 
quivers  to  the  rush  of  landward-racing  seas;  nor  was 
there  lacking,  when  he  caught  his  breath,  the  'scream  of 
a  maddened  beach  dragged  down  by  the  tide.'  His 
right  hand  was  upon  the  doctor's  collar,  so  that  the  two 
shook  to  one  paroxysm,  pendulums  vibrating  together, 
while  I,  apart,  shook  with  them. 

It  was  colossal — immense;  but  of  certain  manifesta- 
tions the  English  language  stops  short.  French  only, 
the  caryatid  French  of  Victor  Hugo,  would  have  de- 
scribed it ;  so  I  mourned  while  I  laughed,  hastily  shuffling 
and  discarding  inadequate  adjectives.  The  vehemence 
of  the  shock  spent  itself,  and  the  sufferer  half  fell,  half 
knelt,  across  the  bench.  He  was  calling  now  upon  God 
and  his  wife,  huskily,  as  the  wounded  bull  calls  upon  the 

317 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

unscathed  herd  to  stay.  Curiously  enough,  he  used  no 
bad  language:  that  had  gone  from  him  with  the  rest. 
The  doctor  exhibited  gold.  It  was  taken  and  retained. 
So,  too,  was  the  grip  on  the  coat-collar. 

'If  I  could  stand,'  boomed  the  giant  despairingly. 
'I'd  smash  you — you  an'  your  drinks.  I'm  dyin' — 
dyin' — dyin'!' 

'That's  what  you  think,'  said  the  doctor.  'You'll 
fmd  it  will  do  you  a  lot  of  good' ;  and,  making  a  virtue 
of  a  somewhat  imperative  necessity,  he  added:  'I'll  stay 
by  you.  If  you'd  let  go  of  me  a  minute  I'd  give  you 
something  that  would  settle  you.' 

'You've  settled  me  now,  you  damned  anarchist. 
Takin'  the  bread  out  of  the  mouth  of  an  English  workin' 
man!  But  I'll  keep  'old  of  you  till  I'm  well  or  dead.  I 
never  did  you  no  harm.  S'pose  I  were  a  little  full. 
They  pumped  me  out  once  at  Guy's  with  a  stummick- 
pump.  I  could  see  that,  but  I  can't  see  this  'ere,  an'  it's 
killin'  of  me  by  slow  degrees.' 

'You'll  be  all  right  in  half  an  hour.  What  do  you 
suppose  I'd  want  to  kill  you  for?'  said  the  doctor,  who 
came  of  a  logical  breed. 

'  'Ow  do  I  know?  Tell  'em  in  court.  You'll  get 
seven  years  for  this,  you  body-snatcher.  That's  what 
you  are — a  bloomin'  body-snatcher.  There's  justice,  I 
tell  you,  in  England;  and  my  Union'U  prosecute,  too. 
We  don't  stand  no  tricks  with  people's  insides  *ere. 
They  gave  a  woman  ten  years  for  a  sight  less  than  this. 
An'  you'll  'ave  to  pay  'undreds  an'  'undreds  o'  pounds, 
besides  a  pension  to  the  missus.  You'll  see,  you  phys- 
ickin'  furriner.  Where's  your  licence  to  do  such?  You'll 
catch  it,  I  tell  you!* 

Then  I  observed,  what  I  had  frequently  observed 

318 


MY  SUNDAY  AT  HOME 

before,  that  a  man  who  is  but  reasonably  afraid  of  an 
altercation  with  an  alien  has  a  most  poignant  dread  of 
the  operations  of  foreign  law.  The  doctor's  voice  was 
flute-like  in  its  exquisite  politeness,  as  he  answered : 

'But  I've  given  you  a  very  great  deal  of  money — fif — 
three  pounds,  I  think.' 

'An'  what's  three  pounds  for  poisonin'  the  likes  o' 
me?  They  told  me  at  Guy's  I'd  fetch  twenty — cold — 
on  the  slates.     Ouh!     It's  comin' again.' 

A  second  time  he  was  cut  down  by  the  foot,  as  it  were, 
and  the  straining  bench  rocked  to  and  fro  as  I  averted 
my  eyes. 

It  was  the  very  point  of  perfection  in  the  heart  of  an 
English  May-day.  The  unseen  tides  of  the  air  had 
turned,  and  all  nature  was  setting  its  face  with  the 
shadows  of  the  horse-chestnuts  towards  the  peace  of  the 
coming  night.  But  there  were  hours  yet,  I  knew — long, 
long  hours  of  the  eternal  English  twilight — to  the  ending 
of  the  day.  I  was  well  content  to  be  alive — to  abandon 
myself  to  the  drift  of  Time  and  Fate;  to  absorb  great 
peace  through  my  skin,  and  to  love  my  country  with  the 
devotion  that  three  thousand  miles  of  intervening  sea 
bring  to  fullest  flower.  And  what  a  garden  of  Eden  it 
was,  this  fatted,  clipped,  and  washen  land!  A  man 
could  camp  in  any  open  field  with  more  sense  of  home 
and  security  than  the  stateliest  buildings  of  foreign  cities 
could  afford.  And  the  joy  was  that  it  was  all  mine  in- 
alienably— groomed  hedgerow,  spotless  road,  decent 
graystone  cottage,  serried  spinney,  tasselled  copse,  apple- 
bellied  hawthorn,  and  well-grown  tree.  A  light  puff  of 
wind — it  scattered  flakes  of  may  over  the  gleaming  rails 
— gave  me  a  faint  whiff  as  it  might  have  been  of  fresh 
cocoanut,  and  I  knew  that  the  golden  gorse  was  in  bloom 

319 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

somewhere  out  of  sight.  Linnaeus  had  thanked  God  on 
his  bended  knees  when  he  first  saw  a  field  of  it;  and,  by 
the  way,  the  navvy  was  on  his  knees  too.  But  he  was 
by  no  means  praying.     He  was  purely  disgustful. 

The  doctor  was  compelled  to  bend  over  him,  his  face 
towards  the  back  of  the  seat,  and  from  what  I  had  seen 
I  supposed  the  navvy  was  now  dead.  If  that  were  the 
case  it  would  be  time  for  me  to  go ;  but  I  knew  that  so 
long  as  a  man  trusts  himself  to  the  current  of  Circum- 
stance, reaching  out  for  and  rejecting  nothing  that 
comes  his  way,  no  harm  can  overtake  him.  It  is  the 
contriver,  the  schemer,  who  is  caught  by  the  law,  and 
never  the  philosopher.  I  knew  that  when  the  play  was 
played.  Destiny  herself  would  move  me  on  from  the 
corpse;  and  I  felt  very  sorry  for  the  doctor. 

In  the  far  distance,  presumably  upon  the  road  that 
led  to  Framlynghame  Admiral,  there  appeared  a  vehicle 
and  a  horse — the  one  ancient  fly  that  almost  every 
village  can  produce  at  need.  This  thing  was  advancing, 
unpaid  by  me,  towards  the  station;  would  have  to  pass 
along  the  deep-cut  lane,  below  the  railway-bridge,  and 
come  out  on  the  doctor's  side.  I  was  in  the  centre  of 
things,  so  all  sides  were  alike  to  me.  Here,  then,  was 
my  machine  from  the  machine.  When  it  arrived,  some- 
thing would  happen,  or  something  else.  For  the  rest, 
I  owned  my  deeply  interested  soul. 

The  doctor,  by  the  seat,  turned  so  far  as  his  cramped 
position  allowed,  his  head  over  his  left  shoulder,  and 
laid  his  right  hand  upon  his  lips.  I  threw  back  my  hat 
2nd  elevated  my  eyebrows  in  the  form  of  a  question. 
The  doctor  shut  his  eyes  and  nodded  his  head  slowly 
twice  or  thrice,  beckoning  me  to  come.  I  descended 
cautiously,  and  it  was  as  the  signs  had  told.    The  navvy 

320 


MY  SUNDAY  AT  HOME 

was  asleep,  empty  to  the  lowest  notch;  yet  his  hand 
clutched  still  the  doctor's  collar,  and  at  the  lightest 
movement  (the  doctor  was  really  very  cramped)  tight- 
ened mechanically,  as  the  hand  of  a  sick  woman  tightens 
on  that  of  the  watcher.  He  had  dropped,  squatting 
almost  upon  his  heels,  and,  falling  lower,  had  dragged  the 
doctor  over  to  the  left. 

The  doctor  thrust  his  right  hand,  which  was  free,  into 
his  pocket,  drew  forth  some  keys,  and  shook  his  head. 
The  navvy  gurgled  in  his  sleep.  Silently  I  dived  into 
my  pocket,  took  out  one  sovereign,  and  held  it  up  be- 
tween fmger  and  thumb.  Again  the  doctor  shook  his 
head.  Money  was  not  what  was  lacking  to  his  peace. 
His  bag  had  fallen  from  the  seat  to  the  ground.  He 
looked  towards  it,  and  opened  his  mouth — 0-shape. 
The  catch  was  not  a  difficult  one,  and  when  I  had  mas- 
tered it,  the  doctor's  right  forefinger  was  sawing  the  air. 
With  an  immense  caution,  I  extracted  from  the  bag  such 
a  knife  as  they  use  for  cutting  coUops  off  legs.  The 
doctor  frowned,  and  with  his  first  and  second  fingers 
imitated  the  action  of  scissors.  Again  I  searched,  and 
found  a  most  diabolical  pair  of  cock-nosed  shears,  capa- 
ble of  vandyking  the  interiors  of  elephants.  The  doctor 
then  slowly  lowered  his  left  shoulder  till  the  navvy's 
right  wrist  was  supported  by  the  bench,  pausing  a  mo- 
ment as  the  spent  volcano  rumbled  anew.  Lower  and 
lower  the  doctor  sank,  kneeling  now  by  the  navvy's  side, 
till  his  head  was  on  a  level  with,  and  just  in  front  of  the 
great  hairy  fist,  and — there  was  no  tension  on  the  coat- 
collar.     Then  light  dawned  on  me. 

Beginning  a  little  to  the  right  of  the  spinal  column,  I 
cut  a  huge  demilune  out  of  his  new  spring  overcoat, 
bringing  it  round  as  far  under  his  left  side  (which  was 

321 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

the  right  side  of  the  navvy)  as  I  dared.  Passing  thence 
swiftly  to  the  back  of  the  seat,  and  reaching  between 
the  splines,  I  sawed  through  the  silk-faced  front  on  the 
left-hand  side  of  the  coat  till  the  two  cuts  joined. 

Cautiously  as  the  box-turtle  of  his  native  heath,  the 
doctor  drew  away  sideways  and  to  the  right,  with  the 
air  of  a  frustrated  burglar  coming  out  from  under  a  bed, 
and  stood  up  free,  one  black  diagonal  shoulder  project- 
ing through  the  gray  of  his  ruined  overcoat.  I  returned 
the  scissors  to  the  bag,  snapped  the  catch,  and  held  all 
out  to  him  as  the  wheels  of  the  fly  rang  hollow  under  the 
railway  arch. 

It  came  at  a  footpace  past  the  wicket-gate  of  the 
station,  and  the  doctor  stopped  it  with  a  whisper.  It 
was  going  some  Ave  miles  across  country  to  bring  home 
from  church  some  one — I  could  not  catch  the  name — 
because  his  own  carriage-horses  were  lame.  Its  destina- 
tion happened  to  be  the  one  place  in  all  the  world  that 
the  doctor  was  most  burningly  anxious  to  visit,  and  he 
promised  the  driver  untold  gold  to  drive  to  some  ancient 
flame  of  his — Helen  Blazes,  she  was  called. 

'Aren't  you  coming,  too?'  he  said,  bundling  his  over- 
coat into  his  bag. 

Now  the  fly  had  been  so  obviously  sent  to  the  doctor, 
and  to  no  one  else,  that  I  had  no  concern  with  it.  Our 
roads,  I  saw,  divided,  and  there  was,  further,  a  need 
upon  me  to  laugh. 

'  I  shall  stay  here,'  I  said.     '  It's  a  very  pretty  country.' 

*My  God!'  he  murmured,  as  softly  as  he  shut  the 
door,  and  I  felt  that  it  was  a  prayer. 

Then  he  went  out  of  my  life,  and  I  shaped  my  course 
for  the  railway-bridge.  It  was  necessary  to  pass  by  the 
bench  once  more,  but  the  wicket  was  between  us.     The 

322 


MY  SUNDAY  AT  HOME 

departure  of  the  fly  had  waked  the  navvy.  He  crawled 
on  to  the  seat,  and  with  mahgnant  eyes  watched  the 
driver  flog  down  the  road. 

'The  man  inside  o'  that,'  he  called,  '  'as  poisoned  me. 
'E's  a  body-snatcher.  'E's  comin'  back  again  when  I'm 
cold.     'Ere's  my  evidence ! ' 

He  waved  his  share  of  the  overcoat,  and  I  went  my 
way,  because  I  was  hungry.  Framlynghame  Admiral 
village  is  a  good  two  miles  from  the  station,  and  I  waked 
the  holy  calm  of  the  evening  every  step  of  that  way  with 
shouts  and  yells,  casting  myself  down  in  the  flank  of  the 
good  green  hedge  when  I  was  too  weak  to  stand.  There 
was  an  inn, — a  blessed  inn  with  a  thatched  roof,  and 
peonies  in  the  garden, — and  I  ordered  myself  an  upper 
chamber  in  which  the  Foresters  held  their  courts,  for  the 
laughter  was  not  all  out  of  me.  A  bewildered  woman 
brought  me  ham  and  eggs,  and  I  leaned  out  of  the  mul- 
lioned  window,  and  laughed  between  mouthfuls.  I  sat 
long  above  the  beer  and  the  perfect  smoke  that  followed, 
till  the  light  changed  in  the  quiet  street,  and  I  began  to 
think  of  the  seven  forty-five  down,  and  all  that  world 
of  the  'Arabian  Nights'  I  had  quitted. 

Descending,  I  passed  a  giant  in  moleskins  who  filled 
the  low-ceiled  tap-room.  Many  empty  plates  stood 
before  him,  and  beyond  them  a  fringe  of  the  Framlyng- 
hame Admiralty,  to  whom  he  was  unfolding  a  won- 
drous tale  of  anarchy,  of  body-snatching,  of  bribery, 
and  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  from  the  which  he  was 
but  newly  risen.  And  as  he  talked  he  ate,  and  as  he  ate 
he  drank,  for  there  was  much  room  in  him;  and  anon 
he  paid  royally,  speaking  of  justice  and  the  law,  before 
whom  all  Englishmen  are  equal,  and  all  foreigners  and 
anarchists  vermin  and  slime. 

323 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

On  my  way  to  the  station  he  passed  me  with  great 
strides,  his  head  high  among  the  low-flying  bats,  his  feet 
firm  on  the  packed  road  metal,  his  fists  clenched,  and 
his  breath  coming  sharply.  There  was  a  beautiful 
smell  in  the  air — the  smell  of  white  dust,  bruised  nettles, 
and  smoke,  that  brings  tears  to  the  throat  of  a  man  who 
sees  his  country  but  seldom — a  smell  like  the  echoes  of 
the  lost  talk  of  lovers;  the  infinitely  suggestive  odour  of 
an  immemorial  civilisation.  It  was  a  perfect  walk;  and, 
lingering  on  every  step,  I  came  to  the  station  just  as  the 
one  porter  lighted  the  last  of  a  truck-load  of  lamps,  and 
set  them  back  in  the  lamp-room,  while  he  dealt  tickets 
to  four  or  five  of  the  population,  who,  not  contented 
with  their  own  peace,  thought  fit  to  travel.  It  was  no 
ticket  that  the  navvy  seemed  to  need.  He  was  sitting 
on  a  bench  wrathfully  grinding  a  tumbler  into  fragments 
with  his  heel.  I  abode  in  obscurity  at  the  end  of  the 
platform,  interested  as  ever,  thank  heaven,  in  my  sur- 
roundings. There  was  a  jar  of  wheels  on  the  road. 
The  navvy  rose  as  they  approached,  strode  through  the 
wicket,  and  laid  a  hand  upon  a  horse's  bridle  that  brought 
the  beast  up  on  his  hireling  hind-legs.  It  was  the  prov- 
idential fly  coming  back,  and  for  a  moment  I  wondered 
whether  the  doctor  had  been  mad  enough  to  revisit  his 
practice. 

*Get  away ;  you're  drunk,'  said  the  driver. 

*rm  not,'  said  the  navvy.  'I've  been  waitin'  'ere 
hours  and  hours.     Come  out,  you  beggar  inside  there.' 

*Go  on,  driver,'  said  a  voice  I  did  not  know — a  crisp, 
clear  English  voice. 

*A11  right,'  said  the  navvy.  *You  wouldn't  'ear  me 
when  I  was  polite.    Now  will  you  come? ' 

There  was  a  chasm  in  the  side  of  the  fly,  for  he  had 

324 


MY  SUNDAY  AT  HOME 

wrenched  the  door  bodily  off  its  hinges,  and  was  feeling 
within  purposefully.  A  well-booted  leg  rewarded  him, 
and  there  came  out,  not  with  delight,  hopping  on  one 
foot,  a  round  and  gray-haired  Englishman,  from  whose 
armpits  dropped  hymn-books,  but  from  his  mouth  an 
altogether  different  service  of  song. 

'  Come  on,  you  bloomin'  body-snatcher !  You  thought 
I  was  dead,  did  you?'  roared  the  navvy.  And  the 
respectable  gentleman  came  accordingly,  inarticulate 
with  rage. 

'  'Ere's  a  man  murderin'  the  Squire,'  the  driver 
shouted,  and  fell  from  his  box  upon  the  navvy's  neck. 

To  do  them  justice,  the  people  of  Framlynghame 
Admiral,  so  many  as  were  on  the  platform,  rallied  to  the 
call  in  the  best  spirit  of  feudalism.  It  was  the  one  porter 
who  beat  the  navvy  on  the  nose  with  a  ticket-punch, 
but  it  was  the  three  third-class  tickets  who  attached 
themselves  to  his  legs  and  freed  the  captive. 

*Send  for  a  constable!  Icck  him  up!'  said  that  man, 
adjusting  his  collar;  and  unitedly  they  cast  him  into  the 
lamp-room,  and  turned  the  key,  while  the  driver  mourned 
over  the  wrecked  fly. 

Till  then  the  navvy,  whose  only  desire  was  justice, 
had  kept  his  temper  nobly.  Then  he  went  Berserk 
before  our  amazed  eyes.  The  door  of  the  lamp-room 
was  generously  constructed,  and  would  not  give  an  inch, 
but  the  window  he  tore  from  its  fastenings  and  hurled 
outwards.  The  one  porter  counted  the  damage  in  a 
loud  voice,  and  the  others,  arming  themselves  with  agri- 
cultural implements  from  the  station  garden,  kept  up  a 
ceaseless  winnowing  before  the  window,  themselves 
backed  close  to  the  wall,  and  hade  the  prisoner  think 
of  the  gaol.    He  answered  little  to  the  point,  so  far  as 

325 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

they  could  understand;  but  seeing  that  his  exit  was 
impeded,  he  took  a  lamp  and  hurled  it  through  the 
wrecked  sash.  It  fell  on  the  metals  and  went  out. 
With  inconceivable  velocity,  the  others,  fifteen  in  all, 
followed  looking  like  rockets  in  the  gloom,  and  with  the 
last  (he  could  have  had  no  plan)  the  Berserk  rage  left 
him  as  the  doctor's  deadly  brewage  waked  up,  under  the 
stimulus  of  violent  exercise  and  a  very  full  meal,  to  one 
last  cataclysmal  exhibition,  and — we  heard  the  whistle 
of  the  seven  forty-five  down. 

They  were  all  acutely  interested  in  as  much  of  the 
wreck  as  they  could  see,  for  the  station  smelt  to  heaven 
of  oil,  and  the  engine  skittered  over  broken  glass  like  a 
terrier  in  a  cucumber  frame.  The  guard  had  to  hear  of 
it,  and  the  Squire  had  his  version  of  the  brutal  assault,  and 
heads  were  out  all  along  the  carriages  as  I  found  me  a  seat. 

'What  is  the  row?'  said  a  young  man,  as  I  entered. 
'Man  drunk?' 

*  Well,  the  symptoms,  so  far  as  my  observation  has  gone, 
more  resemble  those  of  Asiatic  cholera  than  anything 
else,'  I  answered,  slowly  and  judicially,  that  every  word 
might  carry  weight  in  the  appointed  scheme  of  things.  Till 
then,  you  will  observe,  I  had  taken  no  part  in  that  war. 

He  was  an  Englishman,  but  he  collected  his  belong- 
ings as  swiftly  as  had  the  American,  ages  before,  and 
leaped  upon  the  platform,  crying,  'Can  I  be  of  any 
service?     I'm  a  doctor.' 

From  the  lamp-room  I  heard  a  wearied  voice  wailing : 
*  Another  bloomin'  doctor!' 

And  the  seven  forty-five  carried  me  on,  a  step  nearer  to 
Eternity,  by  the  road  that  is  worn  and  seamed  and  chan- 
nelled with  the  passions,  and  weaknesses,  and  warring 
interests  of  man  who  is  immortal  and  master  of  his  fate. 

326 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

(1895) 

*  Girls  and  boys,  come  out  to  play: 
The  moon  is  shining  as  bright  as  day! 
Leave  your  supper  and  leave  your  sleep, 
And  come  with  your  playfellows  out  in  the  street ! 
Up  the  ladder  and  down  the  wall — ' 

A  CHILD  of  three  sat  up  in  his  crib  and  screamed 
at  the  top  of  his  voice,  his  fists  clinched  and  his 
eyes  full  of  terror.  At  first  no  one  heard,  for 
his  nursery  lay  in  the  west  wing,  and  the  nurse  was  talk- 
ing to  a  gardener  among  the  laurels.  Then  the  house- 
keeper passed  that  way,  and  hurried  to  soothe  him. 
He  was  her  special  pet,  and  she  disapproved  of  the 
nurse. 

'What  was  it,  then?     What  was  it,  then?    There's 
nothing  to  frighten  him,  Georgie  dear.' 

'  It  was — it  was  a  policeman !    He  was  on  the  Down — 
I  saw  him !    He  came  in.     Jane  said  he  would.' 

'Policemen  don't  come  into  houses,  dearie.    Turn 
over,  and  take  my  hand.' 

'I  saw  him — on  the  Down.     He  came  here.     Where 
is  your  hand,  Harper? ' 

The  housekeeper  waited  till  the  sobs  changed  to  the 
regular  breathing  of  sleep  before  she  stole  out. 

327 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

*Jane,  what  nonsense  have  you  been  telling  Master 
Georgie  about  policemen?' 

'  I  haven't  told  him  anything.' 

*  You  have.     He's  been  dreaming  about  them.' 

*We  met  Tisdall  on  Dowhead  when  we  were  in  the 
donkey-cart  this  morning.  P'raps  that's  what  put  it 
into  his  head.' 

'  Oh !  Now  you  aren't  going  to  frighten  the  child  into 
fits  with  your  silly  tales,  and  the  master  know  nothing 
about  it.     If  ever  I  catch  you  again,'  etc. 

A  child  of  six  was  telling  himself  stories  as  he  lay  in 
bed.  It  was  a  new  power,  and  he  kept  it  a  secret.  A 
month  before  it  had  occurred  to  him  to  carry  on  a  nur- 
sery tale  left  unfinished  by  his  mother,  and  he  was  de- 
lighted to  find  the  tale  as  it  came  out  of  his  own  head 
just  as  surprising  as  though  he  were  listening  to  it  'all 
new  from  the  beginning.'  There  was  a  prince  in  that 
tale,  and  he  killed  dragons,  but  only  for  one  night.  Ever 
afterwards  Georgie  dubbed  himself  prince,  pasha,  giant- 
killer,  and  all  the  rest  (you  see,  he  could  not  tell  any 
one,  for  fear  of  being  laughed  at),  and  his  tales  faded 
gradually  into  dreamland,  where  adventures  were  so 
many  that  he  could  not  recall  the  half  of  them.  They 
all  began  in  the  same  way,  or,  as  Georgie  explained  to 
the  shadows  of  the  night-light,  there  was  'the  same 
starting-off  place' — a  pile  of  brushwood  stacked  some- 
where near  a  beach;  and  round  this  pile  Georgie  found 
himself  running  races  with  little  boys  and  girls.  These 
ended,  ships  ran  high  up  the  dry  land  and  opened  into 
cardboard  boxes;  or  gilt-and-green  iron  railings,  that 
surrounded  beautiful  gardens,  turned  all  soft,  and  could 
be  walked  through  and  overthrown  so  long  as  he  remem- 

328 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

bered  it  was  only  a  dream.  He  could  never  hold  that 
knowledge  more  than  a  few  seconds  ere  things  became 
real,  and  instead  of  pushing  down  houses  full  of  grown- 
up people  (a  just  revenge),  he  sat  miserably  upon  gigan- 
tic door-steps  trying  to  sing  the  multiplication-table  up 
to  four  times  six. 

The  princess  of  his  tales  was  a  person  of  wonderful 
beauty  (she  came  from  the  old  illustrated  edition  of 
Grimm,  now  out  of  print),  and  as  she  always  applauded 
Georgie's  valour  among  the  dragons  and  buffaloes,  he 
gave  her  the  two  finest  names  he  had  ever  heard  in  his 
life — Annie  and  Louise,  pronounced  'Annie-an-louise.' 
When  the  dreams  swamped  the  stories,  she  would 
change  into  one  of  the  little  girls  round  the  brushwood- 
pile,  still  keeping  her  title  and  crown.  She  saw  Georgie 
drown  once  in  a  dream-sea  by  the  beach  (it  was  the  day 
after  he  had  been  taken  to  bathe  in  a  real  sea  by  his 
nurse);  and  he  said  as  he  sank:  'Poor  Annie-an-louise! 
She'll  be  sorry  for  me  now!'  But  *  Annie-an-louise,' 
walking  slowly  on  the  beach,  called,  '  "Ha!  ha!  said  the 
duck,  laughing,"'  which  to  a  waking  mind  might  not 
seem  to  bear  on  the  situation.  It  consoled  Georgie  at 
once,  and  must  have  been  some  kind  of  spell,  for  it 
raised  the  bottom  of  the  deep,  and  he  waded  out  with  a 
twelve-inch  flower-pot  on  each  foot.  As  he  was  strictly 
forbidden  to  meddle  with  flower-pots  in  real  life,  he  felt 
triumphantly  wicked. 

The  movements  of  the  grown-ups,  whom  Georgie 
tolerated,  but  did  not  pretend  to  understand,  removed 
his  world,  when  he  was  seven  years  old,  to  a  place  called 
'  Oxford-on-a-visit.'  Here  were  huge  buildings  sur- 
rounded by  vast  prairies,  with  streets  of  infinite  length, 

329 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

and,  above  all,  something  called  the  'buttery,'  which 
Georgie  was  dying  to  see,  because  he  knew  it  must  be 
greasy,  and  therefore  delightful.  He  perceived  how 
correct  were  his  judgments  when  his  nurse  led  him 
through  a  stone  arch  into  the  presence  of  an  enormously 
fat  man,  who  asked  him  if  he  would  like  some  bread  and 
cheese.  Georgie  was  used  to  eat  all  round  the  clock,  so 
he  took  what  'buttery'  gave  him,  and  would  have  taken 
some  brown  liquid  called  *auditale,'  but  that  his  nurse 
led  him  away  to  an  afternoon  performance  of  a  thing 
called  'Pepper's  Ghost.'  This  was  intensely  thrilling. 
People's  heads  came  off  and  flew  all  over  the  stage,  and 
skeletons  danced  bone  by  bone,  while  Mr.  Pepper  him- 
self, beyond  question  a  man  of  the  worst,  waved  his 
arms  and  flapped  a  long  gown,  and  in  a  deep  bass  voice 
(Georgie  had  never  heard  a  man  sing  before)  told  of  his 
sorrows  unspeakable.  Some  grown-up  or  other  tried  to 
explain  that  the  illusion  was  made  with  mirrors,  and 
that  there  was  no  need  to  be  frightened.  Georgie  did 
not  know  what  illusions  were,  but  he  did  know  that  a 
mirror  was  the  looking-glass  with  the  ivory  handle  on 
his  mother's  dressing-table.  Therefore  the  'grown-up' 
was  'just  saying  things'  after  the  distressing  custom  of 
'grown-ups,'  and  Georgie  cast  about  for  amusement 
between  scenes.  Next  to  him  sat  a  little  girl  dressed 
all  in  black,  her  hair  combed  off  her  forehead  exactly 
like  the  girl  in  the  book  called  'Alice  in  Wonderland,' 
which  had  been  given  him  on  his  last  birthday.  The 
little  girl  looked  at  Georgie,  and  Georgie  looked  at  her. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  need  of  any  further  introduction. 
'I've  got  a  cut  on  my  thumb,'  said  he.  It  was  the 
first  work  of  his  first  real  knife,  a  savage  triangular  hack, 
and  he  esteemed  it  a  most  valuable  possession. 

330 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

'I'm  tho  thorry ! '  she  lisped.     '  Let  me  look — pleathe.' 

'There's a di-ack-lum  plaster  on,  but  it's  all  raw  under,' 
Georgie  answered,  complying. 

'Dothent  it  hurt?' — her  gray  eyes  were  full  of  pity 
and  interest. 

'  Awf'ly.     Perhaps  it  will  give  me  lockjaw.' 

'It  lookth  very  horrid.  I'm  tho  thorry!'  She  put  a 
forefinger  to  his  hand,  and  held  her  head  sidewise  for  a 
better  view. 

Here  the  nurse  turned  and  shook  him  severely.  'You 
mustn't  talk  to  strange  little  girls.  Master  Georgie.' 

'She  isn't  strange.  She's  very  nice.  I  like  her,  an' 
I've  showed  her  my  new  cut.' 

'  The  idea !     You  change  places  with  me.' 

She  moved  him  over,  and  shut  out  the  little  girl  from 
his  view,  while  the  grown-up  behind  renewed  the  futile 
explanations. 

'I  am  not  afraid,  truly,'  said  the  boy,  wriggling  in 
despair;  'but  why  don't  you  go  to  sleep  in  the  afternoon 
same  as  Provostof oriel? ' 

Georgie  had  been  introduced  to  a  grown-up  of  that 
name,  who  slept  in  his  presence  without  apology. 
Georgie  understood  that  he  was  the  most  important 
grown-up  in  Oxford;  hence  he  strove  to  gild  his  rebuke 
with  flatteries.  This  grown-up  did  not  seem  to  like  it, 
but  he  collapsed,  and  Georgie  lay  back  in  his  seat,  silent 
and  enraptured.  Mr.  Pepper  was  singing  again,  and 
the  deep,  ringing  voice,  the  red  fire,  and  the  misty, 
waving  gown  all  seemed  to  be  mixed  up  with  the  little 
girl  who  had  been  so  kind  about  his  cut.  When  the 
performance  was  ended  she  nodded  to  Georgie,  and 
Georgie  nodded  in  return.  He  spoke  no  more  than  was 
necessary  till  bedtime,  but  meditated  on  new  colours, 

331 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

and  sounds,  and  lights,  and  music,  and  things  as  far  as 
he  understood  them;  the  deep-mouthed  agony  of  Mr. 
Pepper  mingling  with  the  little  girl's  lisp.  That  night 
he  made  a  new  tale,  from  which  he  shamelessly  removed 
the  Rapunzel-Rapunzel-let-down-your-hair  princess, 
gold  crown,  Grimm  edition,  and  all,  and  put  a  new 
Annie-an-louise  in  her  place.  So  it  was  perfectly  right 
and  natural  that  when  he  came  to  the  brushwood-pile 
he  should  find  her  waiting  for  him,  her  hair  combed  off 
her  forehead,  more  like  Alice  in  Wonderland  than  ever, 
and  the  races  and  adventures  began. 

Ten  years  at  an  English  public  school  do  not  encourage 
dreaming.  Georgie  won  his  growth  and  chest  measure- 
ment, and  a  few  other  things  which  did  not  appear  in 
the  bills,  under  a  system  of  cricket,  football,  and  paper- 
chases,  from  four  to  five  days  a  week,  which  provided 
for  three  lawful  cuts  of  a  ground-ash  if  any  boy  absented 
himself  from  these  entertainments.  He  became  a  rum- 
ple-coUared,  dusty-hatted  fag  of  the  Lower  Third,  and 
a  light  half-back  at  Little  Side  football;  was  pushed 
and  prodded  through  the  slack  back-waters  of  the 
Lower  Fourth,  where  the  raffle  of  a  school  generally 
accumulates;  won  his  'second  fifteen'  cap  at  football, 
enjoyed  the  dignity  of  a  study  with  two  companions  in 
it,  and  began  to  look  forward  to  office  as  a  sub-prefect. 
At  last  he  blossomed  into  full  glory  as  head  of  the  school, 
ex-officio  captain  of  the  games ;  head  of  his  house,  where 
he  and  his  lieutenants  preserved  discipline  and  decency 
among  seventy  boys  from  twelve  to  seventeen;  general 
arbiter  in  the  quarrels  that  spring  up  among  the  touchy 
Sixth — and  intimate  friend  and  ally  of  the  Head  him- 
self.   When  he  stepped  forth  in  the  black  jersey,  white 

332 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

knickers,  and  black  stockings  of  the  First  Fifteen,  the 
new  match-ball  under  his  arm,  and  his  old  and  frayed 
cap  at  the  back  of  his  head,  the  small  fry  of  the  lower 
forms  stood  apart  and  worshipped,  and  the  'new  caps' 
of  the  team  talked  to  him  ostentatiously,  that  the  world 
might  see.  And  so,  in  summer,  when  he  came  back  to 
the  pavilion  after  a  slow  but  eminently  safe  game,  it 
mattered  not  whether  he  had  made  nothing  or,  as  once 
happened,  a  hundred  and  three,  the  school  shouted 
just  the  same,  and  womenfolk  who  had  come  to  look  at 
the  match  looked  at  Cottar — Cottar  major;  'that's 
Cottar!'  Above  all,  he  was  responsible  for  that  thing 
called  the  tone  of  the  school,  and  few  realise  with  what 
passionate  devotion  a  certain  type  of  boy  throws  him- 
self into  this  work.  Home  was  a  far-away  country, 
full  of  ponies  and  fishing,  and  shooting,  and  men-visitors 
who  interfered  with  one's  plans;  but  school  was  his  real 
world,  where  things  of  vital  importance  happened,  and 
crises  arose  that  must  be  dealt  with  promptly  and  quietly. 
Not  for  nothing  was  it  written,  '  Let  the  Consuls  look  to 
it  that  the  Republic  takes  no  harm,'  and  Georgie  was 
glad  to  be  back  in  authority  when  the  holidays  ended. 
Behind  him,  but  not  too  near,  was  the  wise  and  tem- 
perate Head,  now  suggesting  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent, 
now  counselling  the  mildness  of  the  dove;  leading  him 
on  to  see,  more  by  half-hints  than  by  any  direct  word, 
how  boys  and  men  are  all  of  a  piece,  and  how  he  who 
can  handle  the  one  will  assuredly  in  time  control  the 
other. 

For  the  rest,  the  school  was  not  encouraged  to  dwell 
on  its  emotions,  but  rather  to  keep  in  hard  condition, 
to  avoid  false  quantities,  and  to  enter  the  army 
direct,  without  the  help  of  the  expensive  London  cram- 

333 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

mer,  under  whose  roof  young  blood  learns  too  much. 
Cottar  major  went  the  way  of  hundreds  before  him. 
The  Head  gave  him  six  months'  final  polish,  taught  him 
what  kind  of  answers  best  please  a  certain  kind  of  ex- 
aminers, and  handed  him  over  to  the  properly  consti- 
tuted authorities,  who  passed  him  into  Sandhurst. 
Here  he  had  sense  enough  to  see  that  he  was  in  the 
Lower  Third  once  more,  and  behaved  with  respect 
towards  his  seniors,  till  they  in  turn  respected  him,  and 
he  was  promoted  to  the  rank  of  corporal,  and  sat  in 
authority  over  mixed  peoples  with  all  the  vices  of  men 
and  boys  combined.  His  reward  was  another  string  of 
athletic  cups,  a  good-conduct  sword,  and,  at  last,  Her 
Majesty's  Commission  as  a  subaltern  in  a  first-class  line 
regiment.  He  did  not  know  that  he  bore  with  him 
from  school  and  college  a  character  worth  much  fine 
gold,  but  was  pleased  to  find  his  mess  so  kindly.  He 
had  plenty  of  money  of  his  own ;  his  training  had  set  the 
public-school  mask  upon  his  face,  and  had  taught  him 
how  many  were  the  'things  no  fellow  can  do.'  By 
virtue  of  the  same  training  he  kept  his  pores  open  and 
his  mouth  shut. 

The  regular  working  of  the  Empire  shifted  his  world 
to  India,  where  he  tasted  utter  loneliness  in  subaltern's 
quarters — one  room  and  one  bullock-trunk — and,  with 
his  mess,  learned  the  new  life  from  the  beginning.  But 
there  were  horses  in  the  land — ponies  at  reasonable 
price;  there  was  polo  for  such  as  could  afford  it;  there 
were  the  disreputable  remnants  of  a  pack  of  hounds, 
and  Cottar  worried  his  way  along  without  too  much 
despair.  It  dawned  on  him  that  a  regiment  in  India 
was  nearer  the  chance  of  active  service  than  he  had  con- 
ceived, and  that  a  man  might  as  well  study  his  profes- 

334 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

sion.  A  major  of  the  new  school  backed  this  idea  with 
enthusiasm,  and  he  and  Cottar  accumulated  a  library 
of  military  works,  and  read  and  argued  and  disputed  far 
into  the  nights.  But  the  adjutant  said  the  old  thing: 
'Get  to  know  your  men,  young  'un,  and  they'll  follow 
you  anywhere.  That's  all  you  want — know  your  men.' 
Cottar  thought  he  knew  them  fairly  well  at  cricket  and 
the  regimental  sports,  but  he  never  realised  the  true 
inwardness  of  them  till  he  was  sent  off  with  a  detach- 
ment of  twenty  to  sit  down  in  a  mud  fort  near  a  rushing 
river  which  was  spanned  by  a  bridge  of  boats.  When 
the  floods  came  they  went  forth  and  hunted  strayed 
pontoons  along  the  banks.  Otherwise  there  was  noth- 
ing to  do,  and  the  men  got  drunk,  gambled,  and  quar- 
relled. They  were  a  sickly  crew,  for  a  junior  subaltern 
is  by  custom  saddled  with  the  worst  men.  Cottar  en- 
dured their  rioting  as  long  as  he  could,  and  then  sent 
down-country  for  a  dozen  pairs  of  boxing-gloves. 

'I  wouldn't  blame  you  for  fightin','  said  he,  *if  you 
only  knew  how  to  use  your  hands;  but  you  don't.  Take 
these  things  and  I'll  show  you.'  The  men  appreciated 
his  efforts.  Now,  instead  of  blaspheming  and  swearing 
at  a  comrade,  and  threatening  to  shoot  him,  they  could 
take  him  apart  and  soothe  themselves  to  exhaustion. 
As  one  explained  whom  Cottar  found  with  a  shut  eye 
and  a  diamond-shaped  mouth  spitting  blood  through  an 
embrasure :  *  We  tried  it  with  the  gloves,  sir,  for  twenty 
minutes,  and  that  done  us  no  good,  sir.  Then  we  took 
off  the  gloves  and  tried  it  that  way  for  another  twenty 
minutes,  same  as  you  showed  us,  sir,  an'  that  done  us 
a  world  o'  good.  'Twasn't  fightin',  sir;  there  was  a  bet 
on.' 

Cottar  dared  not  laugh,  but  he  invited  his  men  to 

335 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

other  sports,  such  as  racing  across  country  in  shirt  and 
trousers  after  a  trail  of  torn  paper,  and  to  single-stick  in 
the  evenings,  till  the  native  population,  who  had  a  lust 
for  sport  in  every  form,  wished  to  know  whether  the 
white  men  understood  wrestling.  They  sent  in  an  am- 
bassador, who  took  the  soldiers  by  the  neck  and  threw 
them  about  the  dust;  and  the  entire  command  were  all 
for  this  new  game.  1  hey  spent  money  on  learning  new 
falls  and  holds,  which  was  better  than  buying  other 
doubtful  commodities;  and  the  peasantry  grinned  five 
deep  round  the  tournaments. 

That  detachment,  who  had  gone  up  in  bullock-carts, 
returned  to  headquarters  at  an  average  rate  of  thirty 
miles  a  day,  fair  heel-and-toe;  no  sick,  no  prisoners,  and 
no  court-martials  pending.  They  scattered  themselves 
among  their  friends,  singing  the  praises  of  their  lieuten- 
ant and  looking  for  causes  of  offence. 

'How  did  you  do  it,  young  'un?'  the  adjutant  asked. 

'Oh,  I  sweated  the  beef  off  'em,  and  then  I  sweated 
some  muscle  on  to  'em.     It  was  rather  a  lark.' 

'If  that's  your  way  of  lookin'  at  it,  we  can  give  you 
all  the  larks  you  want.  Young  Davies  isn't  feelin'  quite 
fit,  and  he's  next  for  detachment  duty.  Care  to  go  for 
him?' 

'  'Sure  he  wouldn't  mind?  I  don't  want  to  shove  my- 
self forward,  you  know.' 

'You  needn't  bother  on  Davies's  account.  We'll 
give  you  the  sweepin's  of  the  corps,  and  you  can  see 
what  you  can  make  of  'em.' 

*A11  right,'  said  Cottar.  *It's  better  fun  than  loafin' 
about  cantonments.' 

'Rummy  thing,'  said  the  adjutant,  after  Cottar  had 
returned  to  his  wilderness  with  twenty  other  devils 

336 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

worse  than  the  first.  *  If  Cottar  only  knew  it,  half  the 
women  in  the  station  would  give  their  eyes — confound 
'em! — to  have  the  young  'un  in  tow.' 

'That  accounts  for  Mrs.  Elery  sayin'  I  was  workin' 
my  nice  new  boy  too  hard,'  said  a  wing  commander. 

'Oh  yes;  and  "Why  doesn't  he  come  to  the  band-stand 
in  the  evenings?"  and  "Can't  I  get  him  to  make  up  a 
four  at  tennis  with  the  Hammon  girls?"'  the  adjutant 
snorted.  'Look  at  young  Davies  makin'  an  ass  of  him- 
self over  mutton-dressed-as-lamb  old  enough  to  be  his 
mother!' 

'No  one  can  accuse  young  Cottar  of  runnin'  after 
women,  white  or  black,'  the  major  replied  thoughtfully. 
'But,  then,  that's  the  kind  that  generally  gees  the  worst 
mucker  in  the  end.' 

'Not  Cottar.  I've  only  run  across  one  of  his  muster 
before — a  fellow  called  Ingles,  in  South  Africa.  He 
was  just  the  same  hard-trained,  athletic-sports  build  of 
animal.  Always  kept  himself  in  the  pink  of  condition. 
Didn't  do  him  much  good,  though.  Shot  at  Wessel- 
stroom  the  week  before  Majuba.  Wonder  how  the 
young  'un  will  lick  his  detachment  into  shape.' 

Cottar  turned  up  six  weeks  later,  on  foot,  with  his 
pupils.  He  never  told  his  experiences,  but  the  men 
spoke  enthusiastically,  and  fragments  of  it  leaked  back 
to  the  colonel  through  sergeants,  batmen,  and  the  like. 

There  was  great  jealousy  between  the  first  and  second 
detachments,  but  the  men  united  in  adoring  Cottar, 
and  their  way  of  showing  it  was  by  sparing  him  all  the 
trouble  that  men  know  how  to  make  for  an  unloved 
ofTicer.  He  sought  popularity  as  little  as  he  had  sought 
it  at  school,  and  therefore  it  came  to  him.  He  favoured 
no  one — not  even  when  the  company  sloven  pulled  the 

337 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

company  cricket-match  out  of  the  fire  with  an  unex- 
pected forty-three  at  the  last  moment.  There  was  very 
little  getting  round  him,  for  he  seemed  to  know  by 
instinct  exactly  when  and  where  to  head  off  a  malingerer; 
but  he  did  not  forget  that  the  difference  between  a 
dazed  and  sulky  junior  of  the  upper  school  and  a  bewil- 
dered, browbeaten  lump  of  a  private  fresh  from  the 
depot  was  very  small  indeed.  The  sergeants,  seeing 
these  things,  told  him  secrets  generally  hid  from  young 
officers.  His  words  were  quoted  as  barrack  authority 
on  bets  in  canteen  and  at  tea;  and  the  veriest  shrew  of 
the  corps,  bursting  with  charges  against  other  women 
who  had  used  the  cooking-ranges  out  of  turn,  forbore  to 
speak  when  Cottar,  as  the  regulations  ordained,  asked 
of  a  morning  if  there  were  *any  complaints.' 

'I'm  full  o'  complaints,'  said  Mrs.  Corporal  Morri- 
son, 'an'  I'd  kill  O'Halloran's  fat  cow  of  a  wife  any  day, 
but  ye  know  how  it  is.  'E  puts  'is  head  just  inside  the 
door,  an'  looks  down  'is  blessed  nose  so  bashful,  an'  'e 
whispers,  "Any  complaints?"  Ye  can't  complain  after 
that.  I  want  to  kiss  him.  Some  day  I  think  I  will. 
Heigho-ho !  She'll  be  a  lucky  woman  that  gets  Young 
Innocence.     See  'im  now,  girls.     Do  yer  blame  me?' 

Cottar  was  cantering  across  to  polo,  and  he  looked  a 
very  satisfactory  figure  of  a  man  as  he  gave  easily  to  the 
first  excited  bucks  of  his  pony,  and  slipped  over  a  low 
mud  wall  to  the  practice-ground.  There  were  more 
than  Mrs.  Corporal  Morrison  who  felt  as  she  did.  But 
Cottar  was  busy  for  eleven  hours  of  the  day.  He  did 
not  care  to  have  his  tennis  spoiled  by  petticoats  in  the 
court;  and  after  one  long  afternoon  at  a  garden-party, 
he  explained  to  his  major  that  this  sort  of  thing  was 
'futile  piffle,'  and  the  major  laughed.    Theirs  was  not  a 

338 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

married  mess,  except  for  the  colonel's  wife,  and  Cottar 
stood  in  awe  of  the  good  lady.  She  said  'my  regiment,' 
and  the  world  knows  what  that  means.  None  the  less, 
when  they  wanted  her  to  give  away  the  prizes  after  a 
shooting-match,  and  she  refused  because  one  of  the 
prize-winners  was  married  to  a  girl  who  had  made  a  jest 
of  her  behind  her  broad  back,  the  mess  ordered  Cottar 
to  'tackle  her,'  in  his  best  calling-kit.  This  he  did, 
simply  and  laboriously,  and  she  gave  way  altogether. 

'She  only  wanted  to  know  the  facts  of  the  case,'  he 
explained.     '  I  just  told  her,  and  she  saw  at  once.' 

'Ye-es,'  said  the  adjutant.  'I  expect  that's  what  she 
did.     'Comin'  to  the  Fusiliers'  dance  to-night,  Galahad?' 

'No,  thanks.  I've  got  a  fight  on  with  the  major.' 
The  virtuous  apprentice  sat  up  till  midnight  in  the 
major's  quarters,  with  a  stop-watch  and  a  pair  of  com- 
passes, shifting  little  painted  lead  blocks  about  a  four- 
inch  map. 

Then  he  turned  in  and  slept  the  sleep  of  innocence, 
which  is  full  of  healthy  dreams.  One  peculiarity  of  his 
dreams  he  noticed  at  the  beginning  of  his  second  hot 
weather.  Two  or  three  times  a  month  they  duplicated 
or  ran  in  series.  He  would  find  himself  sliding  into 
dreamland  by  the  same  road — a  road  that  ran  along  a 
beach  near  a  pile  of  brushwood.  To  the  right  lay  the 
sea,  sometimes  at  full  tide,  sometimes  withdrawn  to  the 
very  horizon;  but  he  knew  it  for  the  same  sea.  By  that 
road  he  would  travel  over  a  swell  of  rising  ground  cov- 
ered with  short,  withered  grass,  into  valleys  of  wonder 
and  unreason.  Beyond  the  ridge,  which  was  crowned 
with  some  sort  of  street-lamp,  anything  was  possible; 
but  up  to  the  lamp  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  knew  the 
road  as  well  as  he  knew  the  parade-ground.     He  learned 

339 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

to  look  forward  to  the  place;  for,  once  there,  he  was  sure 
of  a  good  night's  rest,  and  Indian  hot  weather  can  be 
rather  trying.  First,  shadowy  under  closing  eyelids, 
would  come  the  outline  of  the  brushwood-pile;  next  the 
white  sand  of  the  beach  road,  almost  overhanging  the 
black,  changeful  sea;  then  the  turn  inland  and  uphill  to 
the  single  light.  When  he  was  unrestful  for  any  reason, 
he  would  tell  himself  how  he  was  sure  to  get  there — sure 
to  get  there — if  he  shut  his  eyes  and  surrendered  to  the 
drift  of  things.  But  one  night  after  a  foolishly  hard 
hour's  polo  (the  thermometer  was  94  degrees  in  his  quar- 
ters at  ten  o'clock),  sleep  stood  away  from  him  alto- 
gether, though  he  did  his  best  to  fmd  the  well-known 
road,  the  point  where  true  sleep  began.  At  last  he  saw 
the  brushwood-pile,  and  hurried  along  to  the  ridge,  for 
behind  him  he  felt  was  the  wide-awake,  sultry  world. 
He  reached  the  lamp  in  safety,  tingling  with  drowsiness, 
when  a  policeman — a  common  country  policeman — 
sprang  up  before  him  and  touched  him  on  the  shoulder 
ere  he  could  dive  into  the  dim  valley  below.  He  was 
filled  with  terror, — the  hopeless  terror  of  dreams, — for 
the  policeman  said,  in  the  awful,  distinct  voice  of  the 
dream-people,  '  I  am  Policeman  Day  coming  back  from 
the  City  of  Sleep.  You  come  with  me.'  Georgie  knew 
it  was  true — that  just  beyond  him  in  the  valley  lay  the 
lights  of  the  City  of  Sleep,  where  he  would  have  been 
sheltered,  and  that  this  Policeman  Thing  had  full  power 
and  authority  to  head  him  back  to  miserable  wakeful- 
ness. He  found  himself  looking  at  the  moonlight  on  the 
wall,  dripping  with  fright;  and  he  never  overcame  that 
horror,  though  he  met  the  policeman  several  times  that 
hot  weather,  and  his  coming  was  always  the  forerunner 
of  a  bad  night. 

340 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

But  other  dreams — perfectly  absurd  ones — filled  him 
with  an  incommunicable  delight.  All  those  that  he 
remembered  began  by  the  brushwood-pile.  For  in- 
stance, he  found  a  small  clockwork  steamer  (he  had 
noticed  it  many  nights  before)  lying  by  the  sea-road, 
and  stepped  into  it,  whereupon  it  moved  with  surpass- 
ing swiftness  over  an  absolutely  level  sea.  This  was 
glorious,  for  he  felt  he  was  exploring  great  matters;  and 
it  stopped  at  a  lily  carved  in  stone,  which,  most  natu- 
rally, floated  on  the  water.  Seeing  the  lily  was  labelled 
'Hong-Kong,'  Georgie  said:  'Of  course.  This  is  pre- 
cisely what  I  expected  Hong-Kong  would  be  like.  How 
magnificent!'  Thousands  of  miles  farther  on  it  halted 
at  yet  another  stone  lily,  labelled  'Java';  and  this  again 
delighted  him  hugely,  because  he  knew  that  now  he  was 
at  the  world's  end.  But  the  little  boat  ran  on  and  on 
till  it  stopped  in  a  deep  fresh-water  lock,  the  sides  of 
which  were  carven  marble,  green  with  moss.  Lily-pads 
lay  on  the  water,  and  reeds  arched  above.  Some  one 
moved  among  the  reeds — some  one  whom  Georgie  knew 
he  had  travelled  to  this  world's  end  to  reach.  There- 
fore everything  was  entirely  well  with  him.  He  was 
unspeakably  happy,  and  vaulted  over  the  ship's  side  to 
find  this  person.  When  his  feet  touched  that  still  water, 
it  changed,  with  the  rustle  of  unrolling  maps,  to  nothing 
less  than  a  sixth  quarter  of  the  globe,  beyond  the  most 
remote  imaginings  of  man — a  place  where  islands  were 
coloured  yellow  and  blue,  their  lettering  strung  across 
their  faces.  They  gave  on  unknown  seas,  and  Georgie's 
urgent  desire  was  to  return  swiftly  across  this  floating 
atlas  to  known  bearings.  He  told  himself  repeatedly 
that  it  was  no  good  to  hurry;  but  still  he  hurried  des- 
perately, and  the  islands  slipped  and  slid  under  his  feet, 

341 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

the  straits  yawned  and  widened,  till  he  found  himself 
utterly  lost  in  the  world's  fourth  dimension,  with  no 
hope  of  return.  Yet  only  a  little  distance  away  he 
could  see  the  old  world  with  the  rivers  and  mountain- 
chains  marked  according  to  the  Sandhurst  rules  of  map- 
making.  Then  that  person  for  whom  he  had  come  to 
the  Lily  Lock  (that  was  its  name)  ran  up  across  unex- 
plored territories,  and  showed  him  a  way.  They  fled 
hand  in  hand  till  they  reached  a  road  that  spanned  ra- 
vines, and  ran  along  the  edge  of  precipices,  and  was 
tunnelled  through  mountains.  'This  goes  to  our  brush- 
wood-pile,' said  his  companion;  and  all  his  trouble  was 
at  an  end.  He  took  a  pony,  because  he  understood  that 
this  was  the  Thirty-Mile-Ride,  and  he  must  ride  swiftly ; 
and  raced  through  the  clattering  tunnels  and  round  the 
curves,  always  downhill,  till  he  heard  the  sea  to  his  left, 
and  saw  it  raging  under  a  full  moon  against  sandy  cliffs. 
It  was  heavy  going,  but  he  recognised  the  nature  of  the 
country,  the  dark  purple  downs  inland,  and  the  bents 
that  whistled  in  the  wind.  The  road  was  eaten  away 
in  places,  and  the  sea  lashed  at  him — black,  foamless 
tongues  of  smooth  and  glossy  rollers ;  but  he  was  sure 
that  there  was  less  danger  from  the  sea  than  from 
*Them,'  whoever  'They'  were,  inland  to  his  right.  He 
knew,  too,  that  he  would  be  safe  if  he  could  reach  the 
down  with  the  lamp  on  it.  This  came  as  he  expected: 
he  saw  the  one  light  a  mile  ahead  along  the  beach,  dis- 
mounted, turned  to  the  right,  walked  quietly  over  to  the 
brushwood-pile,  found  the  little  steamer  had  returned 
to  the  beach  whence  he  had  unmoored  it,  and — must 
have  fallen  asleep,  for  he  could  remember  no  more. 
'I'm  gettin'  the  hang  of  the  geography  of  that  place,' 
he  said  to  himself,  as  he  shaved  next  morning.     '  I  must 

342 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

have  made  some  sort  of  circle.  Let's  see.  The  Thirty- 
Mile-Ride  (now  how  the  deuce  did  I  know  it  was  called 
the  Thirty-Mile  Ride?)  joins  the  sea-road  beyond  the 
first  down  where  the  lamp  is.  And  that  atlas-country 
lies  at  the  back  of  the  Thirty-Mile-Ride,  somewhere  out 
to  the  right  beyond  the  hills  and  tunnels.  Rummy 
thing,  dreams.  'Wonder  what  makes  mine  fit  into  each 
other  so?' 

He  continued  on  his  solid  way  through  the  recurring 
duties  of  the  seasons.  The  regiment  was  shifted  to 
another  station,  and  he  enjoyed  road  marching  for  two 
months,  with  a  good  deal  of  mixed  shooting  thrown  in; 
and  when  they  reached  their  new  cantonments  he  be- 
came a  member  of  the  local  Tent  Club,  and  chased  the 
mighty  boar  on  horseback  with  a  short  stabbing-spear. 
There  he  met  the  mahseer  of  the  Poonch,  beside  whom 
the  tarpon  is  as  a  herring,  and  he  who  lands  him  can  say 
that  he  is  a  fisherman.  This  was  as  new  and  as  fascinat- 
ing as  the  big-game  shooting  that  fell  to  his  portion, 
when  he  had  himself  photographed  for  the  mother's 
benefit,  sitting  on  the  flank  of  his  first  tiger. 

Then  the  adjutant  was  promoted,  and  Cottar  rejoiced 
with  him,  for  he  admired  the  adjutant  greatly,  and  won- 
dered who  might  be  big  enough  to  fill  his  place;  so  that 
he  nearly  collapsed  when  the  mantle  fell  on  his  own 
shoulders,  and  the  colonel  said  a  few  sweet  things  that 
made  him  blush.  An  adjutant's  position  does  not  differ 
materially  from  that  of  head  of  the  school,  and  Cottar 
stood  in  the  same  relation  to  the  colonel  as  he  had  to  his 
old  Head  in  England.  Only,  tempers  wear  out  in  hot 
weather,  and  things  were  said  and  done  that  tried  him 
sorely,  and  he  made  glorious  blunders,  from  which  the 
regimental  sergeant-major  pulled  him  with  a  loyal  soul 

343 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

and  a  shut  mouth.  Slovens  and  incompetents  raged 
against  him;  the  weak-minded  strove  to  lure  him  from 
the  ways  of  justice;  the  small-minded — yea,  men  who 
Cottar  believed  would  never  do  'things  no  fellow  can  do' 
— imputed  motives  mean  and  circuitous  to  actions  that 
he  had  not  spent  a  thought  upon;  and  he  tasted  injustice, 
and  it  made  him  very  sick.  But  his  consolation  came 
on  parade,  when  he  looked  down  the  full  companies, 
and  reflected  how  few  were  in  hospital  or  cells,  and 
wondered  when  the  time  would  come  to  try  the  machine 
of  his  love  and  labour.  But  they  needed  and  expected 
the  whole  of  a  man's  working-day,  and  maybe  three  or 
four  hours  of  the  night.  Curiously  enough,  he  never 
dreamed  about  the  regiment  as  he  was  popularly  sup- 
posed to.  The  mind,  set  free  from  the  day's  doings, 
generally  ceased  working  altogether,  or,  if  it  moved  at 
all,  carried  him  along  the  old  beach  road  to  the  downs, 
the  lamp-post,  and,  once  in  a  while,  to  terrible  Police- 
man Day.  The  second  time  that  he  returned  to  the 
world's  lost  continent  (this  was  a  dream  that  repeated 
itself  again  and  again,  with  variations,  on  the  same 
ground)  he  knew  that  if  he  only  sat  still  the  person  from 
the  Lily  Lock  would  help  him;  and  he  was  not  disap- 
pointed. Sometimes  he  was  trapped  in  mines  of  vast 
depth  hollowed  out  of  the  heart  of  the  world,  where  men 
in  torment  chanted  echoing  songs;  and  he  heard  this 
person  coming  along  through  the  galleries,  and  every- 
thing was  made  safe  and  delightful.  They  met  again 
in  low-roofed  Indian  railway  carriages  that  halted  in 
a  garden  surrounded  by  gilt-and-green  railings,  where  a 
mob  of  stony  white  people,  all  unfriendly,  sat  at  break- 
fast-tables covered  with  roses,  and  separated  Georgie 
from  his  companion,  while  underground  voices  sang 

344 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

deep-voiced  songs.  Georgie  was  filled  with  enormous 
despair  till  they  two  met  again.  They  forgathered  in 
the  middle  of  an  endless  hot  tropic  night,  and  crept  into 
a  huge  house  that  stood,  he  knew,  somewhere  north  of 
the  railway  station  where  the  people  ate  among  the 
roses.  It  was  surrounded  with  gardens,  all  moist  and 
dripping;  and  in  one  room,  reached  through  leagues  of 
whitewashed  passages,  a  Sick  Thing  lay  in  bed.  Now 
the  least  noise,  Georgie  knew,  would  unchain  some  wait- 
ing horror,  and  his  companion  knew  it  too;  but  when 
their  eyes  met  across  the  bed,  Georgie  was  disgusted  to 
see  that  she  was  a  child — a  little  girl  in  strapped  shoes, 
with  her  black  hair  combed  back  from  her  forehead. 

'What  disgraceful  folly!'  he  thought.  'Now  she 
could  do  nothing  whatever  if  Its  head  came  off.' 

Then  the  thing  coughed,  and  the  ceiling  shattered 
down  in  plaster  on  the  mosquito-netting,  and  'They' 
rushed  in  from  all  quarters.  He  dragged  the  child 
through  the  stifling  garden,  voices  chanting  behind 
them,  and  they  rode  the  Thirty-Mile-Ride  under  whip 
and  spur  along  the  sandy  beach  by  the  booming  sea, 
till  they  came  to  the  downs,  the  lamp-post,  and  the 
brushwood-pile,  which  was  safety.  Very  often  dreams 
would  break  up  about  them  in  this  fashion,  and  they 
would  be  separated,  to  endure  awful  adventures  alone. 
But  the  most  amusing  times  were  when  he  and  she  had  a 
clear  understanding  that  it  was  all  make-believe,  and 
walked  through  mile-wide  roaring  rivers  without  even 
taking  off  their  shoes,  or  set  light  to  populous  cities  to 
see  how  they  would  burn,  and  were  rude  as  any  children 
to  the  vague  shadows  met  in  their  rambles.  Later  in 
the  night  they  were  sure  to  suffer  for  this,  either  at  the 
hands  of  the  Railway  People  eating  among  the  roses,  or 

345 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

in  the  tropic  uplands  at  the  far  end  of  the  Thirty-Mile- 
Ride.  Together,  this  did  not  much  affright  them;  but 
often  Georgie  would  hear  her  shrill  cry  of  'Boy!  Boy!' 
half  a  world  away,  and  hurry  to  her  rescue  before  'They' 
maltreated  her. 

He  and  she  explored  the  dark  purple  downs  as  far 
inland  from  the  brushwood-pile  as  they  dared,  but  that 
was  always  a  dangerous  matter.  The  interior  was 
filled  with  'Them,'  and  'They'  went  about  singing  in 
the  hollows,  and  Georgie  and  she  felt  safer  on  or  near 
the  seaboard.  So  thoroughly  had  he  come  to  know  the 
place  of  his  dreams  that  even  waking  he  accepted  it  as  a 
real  country,  and  made  a  rough  sketch  of  it.  He  kept  his 
own  counsel,  of  course;  but  the  permanence  of  the  land 
puzzled  him.  His  ordinary  dreams  were  as  formless 
and  as  fleeting  as  any  healthy  dreams  could  be,  but  once 
at  the  brushwood-pile  he  moved  within  known  limits 
and  could  see  where  he  was  going.  There  were  months 
at  a  time  when  nothing  notable  crossed  his  sleep.  Then 
the  dreams  would  come  in  a  batch  of  five  or  six,  and 
next  morning  the  map  that  he  kept  in  his  writing-case 
would  be  written  up  to  date,  for  Georgie  was  a  most 
methodical  person.  There  was,  indeed,  a  danger — his 
seniors  said  so — of  his  developing  into  a  regular  '  Auntie 
Fuss'  of  an  adjutant,  and  when  an  officer  once  takes  to 
old-maidism  there  is  more  hope  for  the  virgin  of  seventy 
than  for  him. 

But  fate  sent  the  change  that  was  needed,  in  the 
shape  of  a  little  winter  campaign  on  the  border,  which, 
after  the  manner  of  little  campaigns,  flashed  out  into  a 
very  ugly  war;  and  Cottar's  regiment  was  chosen  among 
the  first. 

'Now,'  said  a  major,  'this'fl  shake  the  cobwebs  out  of 

346 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

us  all — especially  you,  Galahad;  and  we  can  see  what  your 
hen-with-one-chick  attitude  has  done  for  the  regiment.' 
Cottar  nearly  wept  with  joy  as  the  campaign  went  for- 
ward. They  were  fit — physically  fit  beyond  the  other 
troops;  they  were  good  children  in  camp,  wet  or  dry,  fed 
or  unfed ;  and  they  followed  their  officers  with  the  quick 
suppleness  and  trained  obedience  of  a  first-class  football 
fifteen.  They  were  cut  off  from  their  apology  for  a  base, 
and  cheerfully  cut  their  way  back  to  it  again;  they 
crowned  and  cleaned  out  hills  full  of  the  enemy  with  the 
precision  of  well-broken  dogs  of  chase;  and  in  the  hour 
of  retreat,  when,  hampered  with  the  sick  and  wounded 
of  the  column,  they  were  persecuted  down  eleven  miles 
of  waterless  valley,  they,  serving  as  rearguard,  covered 
themselves  with  a  great  glory  in  the  eyes  of  fellow- 
professionals.  Any  regiment  can  advance,  but  few  know 
how  to  retreat  with  a  sting  in  the  tail.  Then  they 
turned  to  and  made  roads,  most  often  under  fire,  and 
dismantled  some  inconvenient  mud  redoubts.  They 
were  the  last  corps  to  be  withdrawn  when  the  rubbish 
of  the  campaign  was  all  swept  up ;  and  after  a  month  in 
standing  camp,  which  tries  morals  severely,  they  de- 
parted to  their  own  place  singing — 

'  'E's  goin'  to  do  without  'em — 
'Don't  want  'em  any  more; 
'E's  goin'  to  do  without  'em, 
As  'e's  often  done  before; 
'E's  goin'  to  be  a  martyr 
On  a  'ighly  novel  plan, 
An'  all  the  boys  and  girls  will  say, 

* '  0 w !  what  a  nice  young  man — ^man — man ! 
Ow !  what  a  nice  young  man ! " ' 
347 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

There  came  out  a  'Gazette,'  in  which  Cottar  found  that 
he  had  been  behaving  with  'courage  and  coolness  and 
discretion'  in  all  his  capacities;  that  he  had  assisted  the 
wounded  under  fire,  and  blown  in  a  gate,  also  under  fire. 
Net  result,  his  captaincy  and  a  brevet  majority,  coupled 
with  the  Distinguished  Service  Order. 

As  to  his  wounded,  he  explained  that  they  were  both 
heavy  men,  whom  he  could  lift  more  easily  than  any  one 
else.  '  Otherwise,  of  course,  I  should  have  sent  out  one 
of  my  chaps;  and,  of  course,  about  that  gate  business, 
we  were  safe  the  minute  we  were  well  under  the  walls.' 
But  this  did  not  prevent  his  men  from  cheering  him 
furiously  whenever  they  saw  him,  or  the  mess  from 
giving  him  a  dinner  on  the  eve  of  his  departure  to  Eng- 
land. (A  year's  leave  was  among  the  things  he  had 
'snaffled  out  of  the  campaign,'  to  use  his  own  words.) 
The  doctor,  who  had  taken  quite  as  much  as  was  good 
for  him,  quoted  poetry  about '  a  good  blade  carving  the 
casques  of  men,'  and  so  on,  and  everybody  told  Cottar 
that  he  was  an  excellent  person;  but  when  he  rose  to 
make  his  maiden  speech  they  shouted  so  that  he  was 
understood  to  say,  '  It  isn't  any  use  tryin'  to  speak  with 
you  chaps  rottin'  me  like  this.     Let's  have  some  pool.' 

It  is  not  unpleasant  to  spend  eight-and-twenty  days 
in  an  easy-going  steamer  on  warm  waters,  in  the  com- 
pany of  a  woman  who  lets  you  see  that  you  are  head  and 
shoulders  superior  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  even  though 
that  woman  may  be,  and  most  often  is,  ten  counted 
years  your  senior.  P.  0.  boats  are  not  lighted  with  the 
disgustful  particularity  of  Atlantic  liners.  There  is 
more  phosphorescence  at  the  bows,  and  greater  silence 
and  darkness  by  the  hand-steering  gear  aft. 

348 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

Awful  things  might  have  happened  to  Georgie,  but 
for  the  little  fact  that  he  had  never  studied  the  first 
principles  of  the  game  he  was  expected  to  play.  So 
when  Mrs.  Zuleika,  at  Aden,  told  him  how  motherly 
an  interest  she  felt  in  his  welfare,  medals,  brevet,  and 
all,  Georgie  took  her  at  the  foot  of  the  letter,  and 
promptly  talked  of  his  own  mother,  three  hundred  miles 
nearer  each  day,  of  his  home,  and  so  forth,  all  the  way 
up  the  Red  Sea.  It  was  much  easier  than  he  had  sup- 
posed to  converse  with  a  woman  for  an  hour  at  a  time. 
Then  Mrs.  Zuleika,  turning  from  parental  affection, 
spoke  of  love  in  the  abstract  as  a  thing  not  unworthy  of 
study,  and  in  discreet  twilights  after  dinner  demanded 
confidences.  Georgie  would  have  been  delighted  to 
supply  them,  but  he  had  none,  and  did  not  know  it 
was  his  duty  to  manufacture  them.  Mrs.  Zuleika  ex- 
pressed surprise  and  unbelief,  and  asked  those  questions 
which  deep  asks  of  deep.  She  learned  all  that  was 
necessary  to  conviction,  and,  being  very  much  a  woman, 
resumed  (Georgie  never  knew  that  she  had  abandoned) 
the  motherly  attitude. 

*Do  you  know,'  she  said,  somewhere  in  the  Mediter- 
ranean, 'I  think  you're  the  very  dearest  boy  I  have  ever 
met  in  my  life,  and  I'd  like  you  to  remember  me  a 
little.  You  will  when  you  are  older,  but  I  want  you 
to  remember  me  now.  You'll  make  some  girl  very 
happy.' 

'Oh!  'Hope  so,'  said  Georgie,  gravely;  'but  there's 
heaps  of  time  for  marry  in',  an'  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
ain't  there?' 

'That  depends.  Here  are  your  bean-bags  for  the 
Ladies'  Competition.  I  think  I'm  growing  too  old  to 
care  for  these  tamashas.' 

349 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

They  were  getting  up  sports,  and  Georgie  was  on  the 
committee.  He  never  noticed  how  perfectly  the  bags 
were  sewn,  but  another  woman  did,  and  smiled — once. 
He  liked  Mrs.  Zuleika  greatly.  She  was  a  bit  old,  of 
course,  but  uncommonly  nice.  There  was  no  nonsense 
about  her. 

A  few  nights  after  they  passed  Gibraltar  his  dream 
returned  to  him.  She  who  waited  by  the  brushwood- 
pile  was  no  longer  a  little  girl,  but  a  woman  with  black 
hair  that  grew  into  a  'widow's  peak,'  combed  back  from 
her  forehead.  He  knew  her  for  the  child  in  black,  the 
companion  of  the  last  six  years,  and,  as  it  had  been  in 
the  time  of  the  meetings  on  the  Lost  Continent,  he 
was  filled  with  delight  unspeakable.  'They,'  for  some 
dreamland  reason,  were  friendly  or  had  gone  away  that 
night,  and  the  two  flitted  together  over  all  their  country, 
from  the  brushwood-pile  up  the  Thirty-Mile-Ride,  till 
they  saw  the  House  of  the  Sick  Thing,  a  pin-point  in  the 
distance  to  the  left;  stamped  through  the  Railway 
Waiting-room  where  the  roses  lay  on  the  spread  break- 
fast-tables; and  returned,  by  the  ford  and  the  city  they 
had  once  burned  for  sport,  to  the  great  swells  of  the 
downs  under  the  lamp-post.  Wherever  they  moved  a 
strong  singing  followed  them  underground,  but  this 
night  there  was  no  panic.  All  the  land  was  empty 
except  for  themselves,  and  at  the  last  (they  were  sitting 
by  the  lamp-post  hand  in  hand)  she  turned  and  kissed 
him.  He  woke  with  a  start,  staring  at  the  waving 
curtain  of  the  cabin  door;  he  could  almost  have  sworn 
that  the  kiss  was  real. 

Next  morning  the  ship  was  rolling  in  a  Biscay  sea, 
and  people  were  not  happy;  but  as  Georgie  came  to 
breakfast,  shaven,  tubbed,  and  smelling  of  soap,  several 

350 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

turned  to  look  at  him  because  of  the  light  in  his  eyes 
and  the  splendour  of  his  countenance. 

'Well,  you  look  beastly  fit,'  snapped  a  neighbour. 
'Any  one  left  you  a  legacy  in  the  middle  of  the  Bay? ' 

Georgie  reached  for  the  curry,  with  a  seraphic  grin.  '  I 
suppose  it's  the  gettin'  so  near  home,  and  all  that.  I  do 
feel  rather  festive  this  mornin'.   'Rolls  a  bit,  doesn't  she? ' 

Mrs.  Zuleika  stayed  in  her  cabin  till  the  end  of  the 
voyage,  when  she  left  without  bidding  him  farewell,  and 
wept  passionately  on  the  dock-head  for  pure  joy  of  meet- 
ing her  children,  who,  she  had  often  said,  were  so  like 
their  father. 

Georgie  headed  for  his  own  country,  wild  with  delight 
of  first  long  furlough  after  the  lean  seasons.  Nothing 
was  changed  in  that  orderly  life,  from  the  coachman 
who  met  him  at  the  station  to  the  white  peacock  that 
stormed  at  the  carriage  from  the  stone  wall  above  the 
shaven  lawns.  The  house  took  toll  of  him  with  due 
regard  to  precedence — first  the  mother;  then  the  father; 
then  the  housekeeper,  who  wept  and  praised  God;  then 
the  butler;  and  so  on  down  to  the  under-keeper,  who 
had  been  dog-boy  in  Georgie's  youth,  and  called  him 
*  Master  Georgie,'  and  was  reproved  by  the  groom  who 
had  taught  Georgie  to  ride. 

'Not  a  thing  changed,'  he  sighed  contentedly,  when 
the  three  of  them  sat  down  to  dinner  in  the  late  sunlight, 
while  the  rabbits  crept  out  upon  the  lawn  below  the 
cedars,  and  the  big  trout  in  the  ponds  by  the  home  pad- 
dock rose  for  their  evening  meal. 

'Our  changes  are  all  over,  dear,'  cooed  the  mother; 
*and  now  I  am  getting  used  to  your  size  and  your  tan 
(you're  very  brown,  Georgie),  I  see  you  haven't  changed 
in  the  least.     You're  exactly  like  the  pater.' 

351 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

The  father  beamed  on  this  man  after  his  own  heart, — 
'Youngest  major  in  the  army,  and  should  have  had  the 
V.  C,  sir,' — and  the  butler  listened  with  his  professional 
mask  off  when  Master  Georgie  spoke  of  war  as  it  is 
waged  to-day,  and  his  father  cross-questioned. 

They  went  out  on  the  terrace  to  smoke  among  the 
roses,  and  the  shadow  of  the  old  house  lay  long  across 
the  wonderful  English  foliage,  which  is  the  only  living 
green  in  the  world. 

'  Perfect !  By  Jove,  it's  perfect ! '  Georgie  was  looking 
at  the  round-bosomed  woods  beyond  the  home  paddock, 
where  the  white  pheasant-boxes  were  ranged;  and  the 
golden  air  was  full  of  a  hundred  sacred  scents  and  sounds. 
Georgie  felt  his  father's  arm  tighten  in  his. 

'It's  not  half  bad — but  "hodie  mihi,  eras  tibi,"  isn't 
it?  I  suppose  you'll  be  turning  up  some  fine  day  with  a 
girl  under  your  arm,  if  you  haven't  one  now,  eh?' 

'You  can  make  your  mind  easy,  sir.     I  haven't  one.' 

'Not  in  all  these  years?'  said  the  mother. 

'I  hadn't  time,  mummy.  They  keep  a  man  pretty 
busy,  these  days,  in  the  service,  and  most  of  our  mess 
are  unmarried,  too.' 

'But  you  must  have  met  hundreds  in  society — at 
balls,  and  so  on? ' 

*  I'm  like  the  Tenth,  mummy :  I  don't  dance.' 

'Don't  dance!  What  have  you  been  doing  with 
yourself,  then — backing  other  men's  bills?'  said  the 
father. 

'Oh  yes;  I've  done  a  little  of  that  too;  but  you  see,  as 
things  are  now,  a  man  has  all  his  work  cut  out  for  him 
to  keep  abreast  of  his  profession,  and  my  days  were 
always  too  full  to  let  me  lark  about  half  the  night.* 

'  Hmm ! ' — suspiciously. 

352 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

*It's  never  too  late  to  learn.  We  ought  to  give  some 
kind  of  house-warming  for  the  people  about,  now  you've 
come  back.  Unless  you  want  to  go  straight  up  to  town, 
dear?' 

'No.  I  don't  want  anything  better  than  this.  Let's 
sit  still  and  enjoy  ourselves.  I  suppose  there  will  be 
something  for  me  to  ride  if  I  look  for  it?' 

'Seeing  I've  been  kept  down  to  the  old  brown  pair  for 
the  last  six  weeks  because  all  the  others  were  being  got 
ready  for  Master  Georgie,  I  should  say  there  might  be,' 
the  father  chuckled.  'They're  reminding  me  in  a  hun- 
dred ways  that  I  must  take  the  second  place  now.' 

'Brutes!' 

'The  pater  doesn't  mean  it,  dear;  but  everyone  has 
been  trying  to  make  your  home-coming  a  success;  and 
you  do  like  it,  don't  you?' 

'Perfect!  Perfect!  There's  no  place  like  England — 
when  you've  done  your  work.' 

'That's  the  proper  way  to  look  at  it,  my  son.' 

And  so  up  and  down  the  flagged  walk  till  their  shad- 
ows grew  long  in  the  moonlight,  and  the  mother  went 
indoors  and  played  such  songs  as  a  small  boy  once 
clamoured  for,  and  the  squat  silver  candlesticks  were 
brought  in,  and  Georgie  climbed  to  the  two  rooms  in  the 
west  wing  that  had  been  his  nursery  and  his  play-room 
in  the  beginning.  Then  who  should  come  to  tuck  him 
up  for  the  night  but  the  mother?  And  she  sat  down  on 
the  bed,  and  they  talked  for  a  long  hour,  as  mother  and 
son  should,  if  there  is  to  be  any  future  for  our  Empire. 
With  a  simple  woman's  deep  guile  she  asked  questions 
and  suggested  answers  that  should  have  waked  some 
sign  in  the  face  on  the  pillow,  but  there  was  neither 
quiver  of  eyelid  nor  quickening  of  breath,  neither  eva- 

353 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

sion  nor  delay  in  reply.  So  she  blessed  him  and  kissed 
him  on  the  mouth,  which  is  not  always  a  mother's 
property,  and  said  something  to  her  husband  later,  at 
which  he  laughed  profane  and  incredulous  laughs. 

All  the  establishment  waited  on  Georgie  next  morning, 
from  the  tallest  six-year-old,  'with  a  mouth  like  a  kid 
glove.  Master  Georgie,'  to  the  under-keeper  strolling 
carelessly  along  the  horizon,  Georgie's  pet  rod  in  his 
hand,  and  '  There's  a  four-pounder  risin'  below  the  lasher. 
You  don't  'ave  'em  in  Injia,  Mast — Major  Georgie.' 
It  was  all  beautiful  beyond  telling,  even  though  the 
mother  insisted  on  taking  him  out  in  the  landau  (the 
leather  had  the  hot  Sunday  smell  of  his  youth),  and 
showing  him  off  to  her  friends  at  all  the  houses  for  six 
miles  round;  and  the  pater  bore  him  up  to  town  and  a 
lunch  at  the  club,  where  he  introduced  him,  quite  care- 
lessly, to  not  less  than  thirty  ancient  warriors  whose 
sons  were  not  the  youngest  majors  in  the  army,  and  had 
not  the  D.  S.  0.  After  that,  it  was  Georgie's  turn;  and 
remembering  his  friends,  he  filled  up  the  house  with  that 
kind  of  officer  who  lived  in  cheap  lodgings  at  Southsea 
or  Montpelier  Square,  Brompton — good  men  all,  but 
not  well  off.  The  mother  perceived  that  they  needed 
girls  to  play  with ;  and  as  there  was  no  scarcity  of  girls, 
the  house  hummed  like  a  dovecote  in  spring.  They 
tore  up  the  place  for  amateur  theatricals;  they  disap- 
peared in  the  gardens  when  they  ought  to  have  been 
rehearsing;  they  swept  off  every  available  horse  and 
vehicle,  especially  the  governess-cart  and  the  fat  pony; 
they  fell  into  the  trout-pond;  they  picnicked  and  they 
tennised;  and  they  sat  on  gates  in  the  twilight,  two  by 
two,  and  Georgie  found  that  he  was  not  in  the  least 
necessary  to  their  entertainment. 

354 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

'  My  word ! '  said  he,  when  he  had  seen  the  last  of  their 
dear  backs.  'They  told  me  they've  enjoyed  'emselves, 
but  they  haven't  done  half  the  things  they  said  they 
would.' 

'I  know  they've  enjoyed  themselves — immensely,' 
said  the  mother.     'You're  a  public  benefactor,  dear.' 

'Now  w^e  can  be  quiet  again,  can't  we?' 

'Oh,  quite.  I've  a  very  dear  friend  of  mine  that  I 
want  you  to  know.  She  couldn't  come  with  the  house 
so  full,  because  she's  an  invalid,  and  she  was  away  when 
you  first  came.     She's  a  Mrs.  Lacy.' 

'  Lacy !     I  don't  remember  the  name  about  here.' 

'No;  they  came  after  you  went  to  India — from  Ox- 
ford. Her  husband  died  there,  and  she  lost  some  money, 
I  believe.  They  bought  The  Firs  on  the  Bassett  Road. 
She's  a  very  sweet  woman,  and  we're  very  fond  of  them 
both.' 

'  She's  a  widow,  didn't  you  say? ' 

'She  has  a  daughter.     Surely  I  said  so,  dear?' 

'Does  she  fall  into  trout-ponds,  and  gas  and  giggle, 
and  "Oh,  Majah  Cottah!"  and  all  that  sort  of  thing?' 

*No,  indeed.  She's  a  very  quiet  girl,  and  very  musi- 
cal. She  always  came  over  here  with  her  music-books 
— composing,  you  know;  and  she  generally  works  all 
day,  so  you  won't — ' 

'  'Talking  about  Miriam?'  said  the  pater,  coming  up. 
The  mother  edged  toward  him  within  elbow  reach.  There 
was  no  finesse  about  Georgie's  father.  'Oh,  Miriam's 
a  dear  girl.  Plays  beautifully.  Rides  beautifully,  too. 
She's  a  regular  pet  of  the  household.  'Used  to  call 
me — '  The  elbow  went  home,  and  ignorant,  but  obe- 
dient always,  the  pater  shut  himself  off. 

*  What  used  she  to  call  you,  sir? ' 

355 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

*  All  sorts  of  pet  names.     I'm  very  fond  of  Miriam.' 

'  Sounds  Jewish — Miriam.' 

'Jew!  You'll  be  calling  yourself  a  Jew  next.  She's 
one  of  the  Herefordshire  Lacys.  When  her  aunt  dies — ' 
Again  the  elbow. 

'Oh,  you  won't  see  anything  of  her,  Georgie.  She's 
busy  with  her  music  or  her  mother  all  day.  Besides, 
you're  going  up  to  town  to-morrow,  aren't  you?  I 
thought  you  said  something  about  an  Institute  meeting? ' 
The  mother  spoke. 

'Going  up  to  town  now?  What  nonsense!'  Once 
more  the  pater  was  silenced. 

'I  had  some  idea  of  it,  but  I'm  not  quite  sure,'  said 
the  son  of  the  house.  Why  did  the  mother  try  to  get 
him  away  because  a  musical  girl  and  her  invalid  parent 
were  expected?  He  did  not  approve  of  unknown  fe- 
males calling  his  father  pet  names.  He  would  observe 
these  pushing  persons  who  had  been  only  seven  years 
in  the  county. 

All  of  which  the  delighted  mother  read  in  his  counte- 
nance, herself  keeping  an  air  of  sweet  disinterestedness. 

'They'll  be  here  this  evening  for  dinner.  I'm  sending 
the  carriage  over  for  them,  and  they  won't  stay  more 
than  a  week.' 

'Perhaps  I  shall  go  up  to  town.  I  don't  quite  know 
yet.'  George  moved  away  irresolutely.  There  was  a 
lecture  at  the  United  Services  Institute  on  the  supply 
of  ammunition  in  the  field,  and  the  one  man  whose 
theories  most  irritated  Major  Cottar  would  deliver  it. 
A  heated  discussion  was  sure  to  follow,  and  perhaps  he 
might  find  himself  moved  to  speak.  He  took  his  rod 
that  afternoon  and  went  down  to  thrash  it  out  among 
the  trout. 

356 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

*Good  sport,  dear!'  said  the  mother,  from  the  terrace. 

'  'Fraid  it  won't  be,  mummy.  AH  those  men  from 
town,  and  the  girls  particularly,  have  put  every  trout 
off  his  feed  for  weeks.  There  isn't  one  of  'em  that  cares 
for  fishin' — really.  Fancy  stampin'  and  shoutin'  on 
the  bank,  and  tellin'  every  fish  for  half  a  mile  exactly 
what  you're  goin'  to  do,  and  then  chuckin'  a  brute  of  a 
fly  at  him !     By  Jove,  it  would  scare  me  if  I  was  a  trout ! ' 

But  things  were  not  as  bad  as  he  had  expected.  The 
black  gnat  was  on  the  water,  and  the  water  was  strictly 
preserved.  A  three-quarter-pounder  at  the  second  cast 
set  him  for  the  campaign,  and  he  worked  down-stream, 
crouching  behind  the  reed  and  meadow-sweet;  creeping 
between  a  hornbeam  hedge  and  a  foot-wide  strip  of 
bank,  where  he  could  see  the  trout,  but  where  they  could 
not  distinguish  him  from  the  background;  lying  on  his 
stomach  to  switch  the  blue-upright  sidewise  through 
the  checkered  shadows  of  a  gravelly  ripple  under  over- 
arching trees.  But  he  had  known  every  inch  of  the 
water  since  he  was  four  feet  high.  The  aged  and  astute 
between  sunk  roots,  with  the  large  and  fat  that  lay  in 
the  frothy  scum  below  some  strong  rush  of  water,  suck- 
ing lazily  as  carp,  came  to  trouble  in  their  turn,  at  the 
hand  that  imitated  so  delicately  the  flicker  and  wimple 
of  an  egg-dropping  fly.  Consequently,  Georgie  found 
himself  five  miles  from  home  when  he  ought  to  have 
been  dressing  for  dinner.  The  housekeeper  had  taken 
good  care  that  her  boy  should  not  go  empty;  and  before 
he  changed  to  the  white  moth  he  sat  down  to  excellent 
claret  with  sandwiches  of  potted  egg  and  things  that 
adoring  women  make  and  men  never  notice.  Then 
back,  to  surprise  the  otter  grubbing  for  fresh-water 
mussels,  the  rabbits  on  the  edge  of  the  beechwoodb 

357 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

foraging  in  the  clover,  and  the  poHceman-like  white  owl 
stooping  to  the  Uttle  field-mice,  till  the  moon  was  strong, 
and  he  took  his  rod  apart,  and  went  home  through  well- 
remembered  gaps  in  the  hedges.  He  fetched  a  compass 
round  the  house,  for,  though  he  might  have  broken 
every  law  of  the  establishment  every  hour,  the  law  of 
his  boyhood  was  unbreakable:  after  fishing  you  went 
in  by  the  south  garden  back-door,  cleaned  up  in  the 
outer  scullery,  and  did  not  present  yourself  to  your 
elders  and  your  betters  till  you  had  washed  and  changed. 

'Half-past  ten,  by  Jove!  Well,  we'll  make  the  sport 
an  excuse.  They  wouldn't  want  to  see  me  the  first  even- 
ing, at  any  rate.  'Gone  to  bed,  probably.'  He  skirted 
by  the  open  French  windows  of  the  drawing-room.  '  No, 
they  haven't.     They  look  very  comfy  in  there.' 

He  could  see  his  father  in  his  own  particular  chair, 
the  mother  in  hers,  and  the  back  of  a  girl  at  the  piano  by 
the  big  potpourri-jar.  The  garden  showed  half  divine 
in  the  moonlight,  and  he  turned  down  through  the  roses 
to  finish  his  pipe. 

A  prelude  ended,  and  there  floated  out  a  voice  of  the 
kind  that  in  his  childhood  he  used  to  call  'creamy' — a 
full,  true  contralto;  and  this  is  the  song  that  he  heard, 
every  syllable  of  it : 

*  Over  the  edge  of  the  purple  Down, 

Where  the  single  lamplight  gleams. 
Know  ye  the  road  to  the  Merciful  Town 
That  is  hard  by  the  Sea  of  Dreams — 
Where  the  poor  may  lay  their  wrongs  away, 

And  the  sick  may  forget  to  weep? 
But  we — pity  us !     Oh,  pity  us ! — 
We  wakeful ;  ah,  pity  us ! — 
358 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

We  must  go  back  with  Policeman  Day — 
Back  from  the  City  of  Sleep ! 

*  Weary  they  turn  from  the  scroll  and  crown, 

Fetter  and  prayer  and  plough — 
They  that  go  up  to  the  Merciful  Town, 

For  her  gates  are  closing  now. 
It  is  their  right  in  the  Baths  of  Night 

Body  and  soul  to  steep : 
But  we — pity  us!  ah,  pity  us! — 

We  wakeful ;  oh,  pity  us ! — 
We  must  go  back  with  Policeman  Day — 

Back  from  the  City  of  Sleep ! 

*Over  the  edge  of  the  purple  Down, 

Ere  the  tender  dreams  begin, 
Look — we  may  look — at  the  Merciful  Town, 

But  we  may  not  enter  in ! 
Outcasts  all,  from  her  guarded  wall 

Back  to  our  watch  we  creep : 
We — pity  us!  ah,  pity  us! — 

We  wakeful ;  oh,  pity  us ! — 
We  that  go  back  with  Policeman  Day — 

Back  from  the  City  of  Sleep  !* 

,  At  the  last  echo  he  was  aware  that  his  mouth  was  dry 
and  unknown  pulses  were  beating  in  the  roof  of  it. 
The  housekeeper,  who  would  have  it  that  he  must  have 
fallen  in  and  caught  a  chill,  was  waiting  to  advise  him 
on  the  stairs,  and,  since  he  neither  saw  nor  answered 
her,  carried  a  wild  tale  abroad  that  brought  his  mother 
knocking  at  the  door. 

'Anything  happened,  dear?    Harper  said  she  thought 
you  weren't — ' 

359 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'No;  it's  nothing.  I'm  all  right,  mummy.  Please 
don't  bother.' 

He  did  not  recognise  his  own  voice,  but  that  was  a 
small  matter  beside  what  he  was  considering.  Obviously, 
most  obviously,  the  whole  coincidence  was  crazy  lunacy. 
He  proved  it  to  the  satisfaction  of  Major  George  Cottar, 
who  was  going  up  to  town  to-morrow  to  hear  a  lecture 
on  the  supply  of  ammunition  in  the  field;  and  having 
so  proved  it,  the  soul  and  brain  and  heart  and  body  of 
Georgie  cried  joyously:  'That's  the  Lily  Lock  girl — 
the  Lost  Continent  girl — the  Thirty-Mile-Ride  girl^ 
the  Brushwood  girl !     I  know  her ! ' 

He  waked,  stiff  and  cramped  in  his  chair,  to  recon- 
sider the  situation  by  sunlight,  when  it  did  not  appear 
normal.  But  a  man  must  eat,  and  he  went  to  breakfast, 
his  heart  between  his  teeth,  holding  himself  severely  in 
hand. 

'  Late,  as  usual,'  said  the  mother.     '  My  boy,  Miriam.' 

A  tall  girl  in  black  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  and  Georgie' s 
life  training  deserted  him — just  as  soon  as  he  realised 
that  she  did  not  know.  He  stared  coolly  and  critically. 
There  was  the  abundant  black  hair,  growing  in  a  widow's 
peak,  turned  back  from  the  forehead,  with  that  peculiar 
ripple  over  the  right  ear;  there  were  the  gray  eyes  set  a 
little  close  together;  the  short  upper  lip,  resolute  chin, 
and  the  known  poise  of  the  head.  There  was  also  the 
small,  well-cut  mouth  that  had  kissed  him. 

'Georgie — dear!'  said  the  mother,  amazedly,  for  Mir^ 
iam  was  flushing  under  the  stare. 

*I — I  beg  your  pardon!'  he  gulped.  'I  don't  know 
whether  the  mother  has  told  you,  but  I'm  rather  an 
idiot  at  times,  specially  before  I've  had  my  breakfast. 
It's — it's  a  family  failing.'     He  turned  to  explore  among 

360 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

the  hot-water  dishes  on  the  sideboard,  rejoicing  that  she 
did  not  know — she  did  not  know. 

His  conversation  for  the  rest  of  the  meal  was  mildly 
insane,  though  the  mother  thought  she  had  never  seen 
her  boy  look  half  so  handsome.  How  could  any  girl, 
least  of  all  one  of  Miriam's  discernment,  forbear  to  fall 
down  and  worship?  But  deeply  Miriam  was  displeased. 
She  had  never  been  stared  at  in  that  fashion  before,  and 
promptly  retired  into  her  shell  when  Georgie  announced 
that  he  had  changed  his  mind  about  going  to  town,  and 
would  stay  to  play  with  Miss  Lacy  if  she  had  nothing 
better  to  do. 

'Oh,  but  don't  let  me  throw  you  out.  I'm  at  work. 
I've  things  to  do  all  the  morning.' 

'What  possessed  Georgie  to  behave  so  oddly?'  the 
mother  sighed  to  herself.  'Miriam's  a  bundle  of  feel- 
ings— like  her  mother.' 

'  You  compose,  don't  you?  Must  be  a  fine  thing  to  be* 
able  to  do  that.  ['Pig — oh,  pig!'  thought  Miriam.]  I 
think  I  heard  you  singin'  when  I  came  in  last  night  after 
fishin'.  All  about  a  Sea  of  Dreams,  wasn't  it?  [Miriam 
shuddered  to  the  core  of  the  soul  that  afflicted  her.] 
Awfully  pretty  song.     How  d'you  think  of  such  things?' 

'You  only  composed  the  music,  dear,  didn't  you?' 

'  The  words  too,  mummy.  I'm  sure  of  it,'  said  Georgie, 
with  a  sparkling  eye.     No;  she  did  not  know. 

'  Yeth ;  I  wrote  the  words  too.'  Miriam  spoke  slowly, 
for  she  knew  she  lisped  when  she  was  nervous. 

'Now  how  could  you  tell,  Georgie?'  said  the  mother, 
as  delighted  as  though  the  youngest  major  in  the  army 
were  ten  years  old,  showing  off  before  company. 

'I  was  sure  of  it,  somehow.  Oh,  there  are  heaps  of 
things  about  me,  mummy,  that  you  don't  understand. 

361 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

'Looks  as  if  it  were  goin'  to  be  a  hot  day — for  England. 
Would  you  care  for  a  ride  this  afternoon,  Miss  Lacy? 
We  can  start  out  after  tea,  if  you'd  like  it.' 

Miriam  could  not  in  decency  refuse,  but  any  woman 
might  see  she  was  not  filled  with  delight. 

*That  will  be  very  nice,  if  you  take  the  Bassett  Road. 
It  will  save  me  sending  Martin  down  to  the  village,'  said 
the  mother,  filling  in  gaps. 

Like  all  good  managers,  the  mother  had  her  one  weak- 
ness— a  mania  for  little  strategies  that  should  economise 
horses  and  vehicles.  Her  men-folk  complained  that  she 
turned  them  into  common  carriers,  and  there  was  a  leg- 
end in  the  family  that  she  had  once  said  to  the  pater  on 
the  morning  of  a  meet :  '  If  you  should  kill  near  Bassett, 
dear,  and  if  it  isn't  too  late,  would  you  mind  just  pop- 
ping over  and  matching  me  this? ' 

*  I  knew  that  was  coming.  You'd  never  miss  a  chance, 
mother.  If  it's  fish  or  a  trunk,  I  won't.'  Georgie 
laughed. 

*  It's  only  a  duck.  They  can  do  it  up  very  neatly  at 
Mallett's,'  said  the  mother  simply.  *You  won't  mind, 
will  you?  We'll  have  a  scratch  dinner  at  nine,  because 
it's  so  hot.' 

The  long  summer  day  dragged  itself  out  for  centuries; 
but  at  last  there  was  tea  on  the  lawn,  and  Miriam  ap- 
peared. 

She  was  in  the  saddle  before  he  could  offer  to  help, 
with  the  clean  spring  of  the  child  who  mounted  the  pony 
for  the  Thirty-Mile-Ride.  The  day  held  mercilessly, 
though  Georgie  got  down  thrice  to  look  for  imaginary 
stones  in  Rufus's  foot.  One  cannot  say  even  simple 
things  in  broad  light,  and  this  that  Georgie  meditated 
was  not  simple.     So  he  spoke  seldom,  and  Miriam  was 

362 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

divided  between  relief  and  scorn.  It  annoyed  her  that 
the  great  hulking  thing  should  know  she  had  written 
the  words  of  the  over-night  song;  for  though  a  maiden 
may  sing  her  most  secret  fancies  aloud,  she  does  not  care 
to  have  them  trampled  over  by  the  male  Philistine. 
They  rode  into  the  little  red-brick  street  of  Bassett,  and 
Georgie  made  untold  fuss  over  the  disposition  of  that 
duck.  It  must  go  in  just  such  a  package,  and  be  fast- 
ened to  the  saddle  in  just  such  a  manner,  though  eight 
o'clock  had  passed  and  they  were  miles  from  dinner. 

'  We  must  be  quick ! '  said  Miriam,  bored  and  angry. 

'There's  no  great  hurry;  but  we  can  cut  over  Dow- 
head  Down,  and  let  'em  out  on  the  grass.  That  will 
save  us  half  an  hour.' 

The  horses  capered  on  the  short,  sweet-smelling  turf, 
and  the  delaying  shadows  gathered  in  the  valley  as  they 
cantered  over  the  great  dun  down  that  overhangs  Bas- 
sett and  the  Western  coaching-road.  Insensibly  the 
pace  quickened  without  thought  of  mole-hills;  Rufus, 
gentleman  that  he  was,  waiting  on  Miriam's  Dandy  till 
they  should  have  cleared  the  rise.  Then  down  the  two- 
mile  slope  they  raced  together,  the  wind  whistling  in 
their  ears,  to  the  steady  throb  of  eight  hoofs  and  the 
light  click-click  of  the  shifting  bits. 

'Oh,  that  was  glorious!'  Miriam  cried,  reining  in. 
'Dandy  and  I  are  old  friends,  but  I  don't  think  we've 
ever  gone  better  together.' 

'No;  but  you've  gone  quicker,  once  or  twice.' 

'Really?    When?' 

Georgie  moistened  his  lips.  'Don't  you  remember 
the  Thirty-Mile-Ride — with  me — when  "They"  were 
after  us — on  the  beach  road,  with  the  sea  to  the  left — 
going  toward  the  lamp-post  on  the  Downs?' 

363 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

The  girl  gasped.  'What — what  do  you  mean?'  she 
said  hysterically. 

'The  Thirty-Mile-Ride,  and— and  all  the  rest  of 
it.' 

'You  mean — ?  I  didn't  sing  anything  about  the 
Thirty-Mile-Ride.  I  know  I  didn't.  I  have  never  told 
a  living  soul.' 

'You  told  about  Policeman  Day,  and  the  lamp  at  the 
top  of  the  downs,  and  the  City  of  Sleep.  It  all  joins  on, 
you  know — it's  the  same  country — and  it  was  easy 
enough  to  see  where  you  had  been.' 

'Good  God! — It  joins  on — of  course  it  does;  but — I 
have  been — you  have  been —  Oh,  let's  walk,  please,  or 
I  shall  fall  off!' 

Georgie  ranged  alongside,  and  laid  a  hand  that  shook 
below  her  bridle-hand,  pulling  Dandy  into  a  walk. 
Miriam  was  sobbing  as  he  had  seen  a  man  sob  under  the 
touch  of  the  bullet. 

'It's  all  right — it's  all  right,'  he  whispered  feebly. 
'  Only — only  it's  true,  you  know.' 

'True!    Am  I  mad?' 

*Not  unless  I'm  mad  as  well.  Do  try  to  think  a 
minute  quietly.  How  could  any  one  conceivably  know 
anything  about  the  Thirty-Mile-Ride  having  anything 
to  do  with  you,  unless  he  had  been  there? ' 

'  But  where?     But  where?    Tell  me ! ' 

'There — wherever  it  may  be.  In  our  country,  I 
suppose.  Do  you  remember  the  first  time  you  rode  it — 
the  Thirty-Mile-Ride,  I  mean?    You  must.' 

*  It  was  all  dreams — all  dreams ! ' 

'Yes,  but  tell,  please;  because  I  know.' 

'Let  me  think.  I — we  were  on  no  account  to  make 
any  noise — on  no  account  to  make  any  noise.'     She  was 

364 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

staring  between  Dandy's  ears  with  eyes  that  did  not 
see,  and  a  suffocating  heart. 

'Because  "It"  was  dying  in  the  big  house?'  Georgie 
went  on,  reining  in  again. 

'There  was  a  garden  with  green-and-gilt  railings — all 
hot.     Do  you  remember? ' 

'I  ought  to.  I  was  sitting  on  the  other  side  of  the 
bed  before  "It"  coughed  and  "They"  came  in.' 

'You!' — the  deep  voice  was  unnaturally  full  and 
strong,  and  the  girl's  wide-opened  eyes  burned  in  the 
dusk  as  she  stared  him  through  and  through.  'Then 
you're  the  Boy — my  Brushwood  Boy,  and  I've  known 
you  all  my  life ! ' 

She  fell  forward  on  Dandy's  neck.  Georgie  forced 
himself  out  of  the  weakness  that  was  overmastering  his 
limbs,  and  slid  an  arm  round  her  waist.  The  head 
dropped  on  his  shoulder,  and  he  found  himself  with 
parched  lips  saying  things  that  up  till  then  he  believed 
existed  only  in  printed  works  of  fiction.  Mercifully  the 
horses  were  quiet.  She  made  no  attempt  to  draw  her- 
self away  when  she  recovered,  but  lay  still,  whispering, 
'Of  course  you're  the  Boy,  and  I  didn't  know — I  didn't 
know.' 

'I  knew  last  night;  and  when  I  saw  you  at  break- 
fast—' 

'Oh,  that  was  why!  I  wondered  at  the  time.  You 
would,  of  course.' 

'  I  couldn't  speak  before  this.  Keep  your  head  where 
it  is,  dear.     It's  all  right  now — all  right  now,  isn't  it? ' 

'But  how  was  it  I  didn't  know — after  all  these  years 
and  years?  I  remember — oh,  what  lots  of  things  I 
remember ! ' 

'Tell  me  some.     I'll  look  after  the  horses.' 

365 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

*  I  remember  waiting  for  you  when  the  steamer  came 
in.     Do  you?' 

'At  the  Lily  Lock,  beyond  Hong-Kong  and  Java?' 

'Do  you  call  it  that,  too?' 

'You  told  me  it  was  when  I  was  lost  in  the  continent. 
That  was  you  that  showed  me  the  way  through  the 
mountains?' 

'When  the  islands  slid?  It  must  have  been,  because 
you're  the  only  one  I  remember.  All  the  others  were 
"Them."' 

'Awful  brutes  they  were,  too.' 

'  Yes,  I  remember  showing  you  the  Thirty-Mile-Ride 
the  first  time.  You  ride  just  as  you  used  to — then. 
You  are  you!' 

'That's  odd.  I  thought  that  of  you  this  afternoon. 
Isn't  it  wonderful? ' 

'What  does  it  all  mean?  Why  should  you  and  I  of 
the  millions  of  people  in  the  world  have  this — this  thing 
between  us?     What  does  it  mean?     I'm  frightened.' 

'This!'  said  Georgie.  The  horses  quickened  their 
pace.  They  thought  they  had  heard  an  order.  'Per- 
haps when  we  die  we  may  find  out  more,  but  it  means 
this  now.' 

There  was  no  answer.  What  could  she  say?  As  the 
world  went,  they  had  known  each  other  rather  less  than 
eight  and  a  half  hours,  but  the  matter  was  one  that  did 
not  concern  the  world.  There  was  a  very  long  silence, 
while  the  breath  in  their  nostrils  drew  cold  and  sharp 
as  it  might  have  been  fumes  of  ether. 

'That's  the  second,'  Georgie  whispered.  'You  re- 
member, don't  you?' 

'  It's  not !  '—furiously.     '  It's  not ! ' 

'On  the  downs  the  other  night — months  ago.     You 

366 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

were  just  as  you  are  now,  and  we  went  over  the  country 
for  miles  and  miles.' 

'  It  was  all  empty,  too.  They  had  gone  away.  No- 
body frightened  us.     I  wonder  why,  Boy? ' 

'Oh,  if  you  remember  that,  you  must  remember  the 
rest.     Confess!' 

'I  remember  lots  of  things,  but  I  know  I  didn't.  I 
never  have — till  just  now.' 

'You  did,  dear.' 

'I  know  I  didn't,  because — oh,  it's  no  use  keeping 
anything  back! — because  I  truthfully  meant  to.' 

'And  truthfully  did.' 

'No;  meant  to;  but  some  one  else  came  by.' 

'There  wasn't  any  one  else.     There  never  has  been.' 

'  There  was — there  always  is.  It  was  another  woman 
— out  there  on  the  sea.  I  saw  her.  It  was  the  26th  of 
May.     I've  got  it  written  down  somewhere.' 

'  Oh,  you've  kept  a  record  of  your  dreams,  too?  That's 
odd  about  the  other  woman,  because  I  happened  to  be 
on  the  sea  just  then.' 

'I  was  right.  How  do  I  know  what  you've  done — 
when  you  were  awake.     And  I  thought  it  was  only  you ! ' 

'You  never  were  more  wrong  in  your  life.  What  a 
little  temper  you've  got!  Listen  to  me  a  minute,  dear.' 
And  Georgie,  though  he  knew  it  not,  committed  black 
perjury.  '  It — it  isn't  the  kind  of  thing  one  says  to  any 
one,  because  they'd  laugh;  but  on  my  word  and  honour, 
darling,  I've  never  been  kissed  by  a  living  soul  outside 
my  own  people  in  all  my  life.  Don't  laugh,  dear.  I 
wouldn't  tell  any  one  but  you,  but  it's  the  solemn  truth.* 

'  I  knew !  You  are  you.  Oh,  I  knew  you'd  come  some 
day;  but  I  didn't  know  you  were  you  in  the  least  till  you 
spoke.' 

367 


THE  DAY'S  WORK 

*Then  give  me  another.' 

'And  you  never  cared  or  looked  anywhere?  Why,  all 
the  round  world  must  have  loved  you  from  the  very 
minute  they  saw  you,  Boy.' 

'They  kept  it  to  themselves  if  they  did.  No;  I  never 
cared.' 

'  And  we  shall  be  late  for  dinner — horribly  late.  Oh, 
how  can  I  look  at  you  in  the  light  before  your  mother — 
and  mine ! ' 

'We'll  play  you're  Miss  Lacy  till  the  proper  time 
comes.  What's  the  shortest  limit  for  people  to  get 
engaged?  S'pose  we  have  got  to  go  through  all  the 
fuss  of  an  engagement,  haven't  we?' 

'  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  that.  It's  so  common- 
place. I've  thought  of  something  that  you  don't  know. 
I'm  sure  of  it.     What's  my  name? ' 

'  Miri — no,  it  isn't,  by  Jove !  Wait  half  a  second,  and 
it'll  come  back  to  me.  You  aren't — ^you  can't?  Why, 
those  old  tales — before  I  went  to  school!  I've  never 
thought  of  'em  from  that  day  to  this.  Are  you  the 
original,  only  Annie-an-louise? ' 

'It  was  what  you  always  called  me  ever  since  the 
beginning.  Oh!  We've  turned  into  the  avenue,  and 
we  must  be  an  hour  late.' 

'  What  does  it  matter?  The  chain  goes  as  far  back  as 
those  days?  It  must,  of  course — of  course  it  must. 
I've  got  to  ride  round  with  this  pestilent  old  bird — 
confound  him!' 

*  "  Ha !  ha !  said  the  duck,  laughing."  Do  you  remem- 
ber that?' 

'Yes,  I  do — flower-pots  on  my  feet,  and  all.  We've 
been  together  all  this  while;  and  I've  got  to  say  good- 
bye to  you  till  dinner.     'Sure  I'll  see  you  at  dinner- 

368 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 

time?  'Sure  you  won't  sneak  up  to  your  room,  darling, 
and  leave  me  all  the  evening?  Good-bye,  dear — good- 
bye.' 

'Good-bye,  Boy,  good-bye.  Mind  the  arch!  Don't 
let  Rufus  bolt  into  his  stable.  Good-bye.  Yes,  I'll 
come  down  to  dinner;  but — what  shall  I  do  when  I  see 
you  in  the  light!' 


THE    END 


MANY  INVENTIONS 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Disturber  of  Traffic 3 

A  Conference  of  the  Powers 

23 

My  Lord  the  Elephant 

41 

One  View  of  the  Question     . 

66 

'The  Finest  Story  in  the  World' 

88 

His  Private  Honour 

' 

126 

A  Matter  of  Fact         .... 

150 

The  Lost  Legion  .... 

167 

In  the  Rukh         .... 

183 

'Brugglesmith'     .... 

218 

'  Love-o '-Women ' 

238 

The  Record  of  Badalia  Herodsfoot 

.     268 

Judson  and  the  Empire 

.     297 

The  Children  of  the  Zodiac 

.     329 

Envoy 

.     349 

TO  THE  TRUE  ROMANCE 

THY  face  is  far  from  this  our  war, 
Our  call  and  counter-cry, 
;I  shall  not  find  Thee  quick  and  kind, 
Nor  know  Thee  till  I  die. 
Enough  for  me  in  dreams  to  see 

And  touch  Thy  garments'  hem: 
Thy  feet  have  trod  so  near  to  God 
I  may  not  follow  them. 

Through  wantonness  if  men  profess 

They  weary  of  Thy  parts, 
E'en  let  them  die  at  blasphemy 

And  perish  with  their  arts; 
But  we  that  love,  but  we  that  prove 

Thine  excellence  august. 
While  we  adore  discover  more 

Thee  perfect,  wise,  and  just. 

Since  spoken  word  Man's  spirit  stirred 

Beyond  his  belly-need. 
What  is  is  Thine  of  fair  design 

In  thought  and  craft  and  deed; 
Each  stroke  aright  of  toil  and  fight, 

That  was  and  that  shall  be, 
And  hope  too  high  wherefore  we  die, 

Has  birth  and  worth  in  Thee. 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Who  holds  by  Thee  hath  Heaven  in  fee 

To  gild  his  dross  thereby, 
And  knowledge  sure  that  he  endure 

A  child  until  he  die — 
For  to  make  plain  that  man's  disdain 

Is  but  new  Beauty's  birth — 
For  to  possess  in  cheerfulness 

The  joy  of  all  the  earth. 

As  Thou  didst  teach  all  lovers  speech 

And  Life  her  mystery, 
So  shalt  Thou  rule  by  every  school 

Till  love  and  longing  die, 
Who  wast  or  yet  the  lights  were  set, 

A  whisper  in  the  Void, 
Who  shalt  be  sung  through  planets  young 

When  this  is  clean  destroyed. 

Beyond  the  bounds  our  staring  rounds. 

Across  the  pressing  dark, 
The  children  wise  of  outer  skies 

Look  hitherward  and  mark 
A  light  that  shifts,  a  glare  that  drifts. 

Rekindling  thus  and  thus, 
Not  all  forlorn,  for  Thou  hast  borne 

Strange  tales  to  them  of  us. 

Time  hath  no  tide  but  must  abide 

The  servant  of  Thy  will; 
Tide  hath  no  time,  for  to  Thy  rhyme 

The  ranging  stars  stand  still — 
Regent  of  spheres  that  lock  our  fears 

Our  hopes  invisible, 
Oh  'twas  certes  at  Thy  decrees 

We  fashioned  Heaven  and  Hell! 


TO  THE  TRUE  ROMANCE 

Pure  Wisdom  hath  no  certain  path 

That  lacks  thy  morning-eyne, 
And  captains  bold  by  Thee  controlled 

Most  like  to  Gods  design; 
Thou  art  the  Voice  to  kingly  boys 

To  lift  them  through  the  fight, 
And  Comfortress  of  Unsuccess, 

To  give  the  dead  good-night — 

A  veil  to  draw  'twixt  God  His  Law 

And  Man's  infirmity, 
A  shadow  kind  to  dumb  and  blind 

The  shambles  where  we  die; 
A  sum  to  trick  th'  arithmetic 

Too  base  of  leaguing  odds, 
The  spur  of  trust,  the  curb  of  lust, 

Thou  handmaid  of  the  Gods! 

Oh  Charity,  all  patiently 

Abiding  wrack  and  scaith! 
Oh  Faith,  that  meets  ten  thousand  cheats 

Yet  drops  no  jot  of  faith ! 
Devil  and  brute  Thou  dost  transmute 

To  higher,  lordlier  show. 
Who  art  in  sooth  that  utter  Truth 

The  careless  angels  know ! 

Thy  face  is  far  from  this  our  war. 

Our  call  and  counter-cry, 
I  may  not  find  Thee  quick  and  kind, 

Nor  know  Thee  till  I  die. 

Yet  may  I  look  with  heart  unshook 
On  blow  brought  home  or  missed — 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Yet  may  I  hear  with  equal  ear 
The  clarions  down  the  List; 

Yet  set  my  lance  above  mischance 
And  ride  the  barriere — 

Oh,  hit  or  miss,  how  little  'tis, 
My  lady  is  not  there ! 


MANY  INVENTIONS 


THE  DISTURBER  OF  TRAFFIC 

(1891) 

From  the  wheel  and  the  drift  of  Things 

Deliver  us,  good  Lord ; 
And  we  will  face  the  wrath  of  Kings, 

The  faggot,  and  the  sword. 

Lay  not  Thy  toil  before  our  eyes, 

Nor  vex  us  with  Thy  wars, 
Lest  we  should  feel  the  straining  skies 

O'ertrod  by  trampling  stars. 

A  veil  'twixt  us  and  Thee,  dread  Lord, 

A  veil  'twixt  us  and  Thee : 
Lest  we  should  hear  too  clear,  too  clear. 

And  unto  madness  see ! 

Miriam  Cohen. 

HE  Brothers  of  the  Trinity  order  that  none  un- 
connected with  their  service  shall  be  found  in  or 
on  one  of  their  Lights  during  the  hours  of  dark- 
ness; but  their  servants  can  be  made  to  think  otherwise. 
If  you  are  fair-spoken  and  take  an  interest  in  their  duties, 
they  will  allow  you  to  sit  with  them  through  the  long 
night  and  help  to  scare  the  ships  into  mid-channel. 

Of  the  English  south-coast  Lights,  that  of  St.  Cecilia- 
under-the-Cliff  is  the  most  powerful,  for  it  guards  a  very 

3 


.T 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

foggy  coast.  When  the  sea-mist  veils  all,  St.  Cecilia 
turns  a  hooded  head  to  the  sea  and  sings  a  song  of  two 
words  once  every  minute.  From  the  land  that  song  re- 
sembles the  bellowing  of  a  brazen  bull ;  but  off-shore  they 
understand,  and  the  steamers  grunt  gratefully  in  answer. 

Fenwick,  who  was  on  duty  one  night,  lent  me  a  pair 
of  black  glass  spectacles,  without  which  no  man  can  look 
at  the  Light  unblinded,  and  busied  himself  in  last  touches 
to  the  lenses  before  twilight  fell.  The  width  of  the 
English  Channel  beneath  us  lay  as  smooth  and  as  many- 
coloured  as  the  inside  of  an  oyster  shell.  A  little  Sun- 
derland cargo-boat  had  made  her  signal  to  Lloyd's 
Agency,  half  a  mile  up  the  coast,  and  was  lumbering 
down  to  the  sunset,  her  wake  lying  white  behind  her. 
One  star  came  out  over  the  cliffs,  the  waters  turned  to 
lead  colour,  and  St.  Cecilia's  Light  shot  out  across  the 
sea  in  eight  long  pencils  that  wheeled  slowly  from  right 
to  left,  melted  into  one  beam  of  solid  light  laid  down  di- 
rectly in  front  of  the  tower,  dissolved  again  into  eight, 
and  passed  away.  The  light-frame  of  the  thousand 
lenses  circled  on  its  rollers,  and  the  compressed-air  en- 
gine that  drove  it  hummed  like  a  blue-bottle  under  a 
glass.  The  hand  of  the  indicator  on  the  wall  pulsed 
from  mark  to  mark.  Eight  pulse-beats  timed  one  half- 
revolution  of  the  Light;  neither  more  nor  less. 

Fenwick  checked  the  first  few  revolutions  carefully; 
opened  the  engine's  feed-pipe  a  trifle,  looked  at  the  rac- 
ing governor,  and  again  at  the  indicator,  and  said: 
*  She'll  do  for  the  next  few  hours.  We've  just  sent  our 
regular  engine  to  London,  and  this  spare  one's  not  by 
any  manner  so  accurate.' 

*And  what  would  happen  if  the  compressed  air  gave 
out?' I  asked. 

4 


THE  DISTURBER  OF  TRAFFIC 

'We'd  have  to  turn  the  flash  by  hand,  keeping  an  eye 
on  the  indicator.  There's  a  regular  crank  for  that. 
But  it  hasn't  happened  yet.  We'll  need  all  our  com- 
pressed air  to-night.' 

'Why?'  said  I.  I  had  been  watching  him  for  not 
more  than  a  minute. 

'Look,'  he  answered,  and  I  saw  that  the  dead  sea-mist 
had  risen  out  of  the  lifeless  sea  and  wrapped  us  while  my 
back  had  been  turned.  The  pencils  of  the  Light  marched 
staggeringly  across  tilted  floors  of  white  cloud.  From 
the  balcony  round  the  light-room  the  white  walls  of  the 
lighthouse  ran  down  into  swirling,  smoking  space.  The 
noise  of  the  tide  coming  in  very  lazily  over  the  rocks  was 
choked  down  to  a  thick  drawl. 

'That's  the  way  our  sea-fogs  come,'  said  Fenwick, 
with  an  air  of  ownership.  '  Hark,  now,  to  that  little  fool 
calling  out  'fore  he's  hurt.' 

Something  in  the  mist  was  bleating  Hke  an  indignant 
calf;  it  might  have  been  half  a  mile  or  half  a  hundred 
miles  away. 

'Does  he  suppose  we've  gone  to  bed?'  continued  Fen- 
v.ick.  'You'll  hear  us  talk  to  him  in  a  minute.  He 
knows  pufTickly  where  he  is,  and  he's  carrying  on  to  be 
told  like  if  he  was  insured.' 

'Who  is  "he"?' 

*  That  Sunderland  boat,  o'  course.     Ah ! ' 

I  could  hear  a  steam-engine  hiss  down  below  in  the 
mist  where  the  dynamos  that  fed  the  Light  were  clack- 
ing together.  Then  there  came  a  roar  that  split  the  fog 
and  shook  the  lighthouse. 

*  Git-toot!'  blared  the  fog-horn  of  St.  Cecilia.  The 
bleating  ceased. 

'Little  fool!'   Fenwick  repeated.     Then,  listening: 

5 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

'Blest  if  that  aren't  another  of  them!  Well,  well,  they 
always  say  that  a  fog  do  draw  the  ships  of  the  sea  to- 
gether. They'll  be  calling  all  night,  and  so'U  the  siren. 
We're  expecting  some  tea-ships  up-Channel.  .  .  . 
If  you  put  my  coat  on  that  chair,  you'll  feel  more  so-fash, 
sir.' 

It  is  no  pleasant  thing  to  thrust  your  company  upon  a 
man  for  the  night.  I  looked  at  Fenwick,  and  Fenwick 
looked  at  me;  each  gauging  the  other's  capacities  for 
boring  and  being  bored.  Fenwick  was  an  old,  clean- 
shaven, gray-haired  man  who  had  followed  the  sea  for 
thirty  years,  and  knew  nothing  of  the  land  except  the 
lighthouse  in  which  he  served.  He  fenced  cautiously  to 
find  out  the  little  that  I  knew  and  talked  down  to  my 
level,  till  it  came  out  that  I  had  met  a  captain  in  the 
merchant  service  who  had  once  commanded  a  ship  in 
which  Fenwick's  son  had  served;  and  further,  that  I  had 
seen  some  places  that  Fenwick  had  touched  at.  He  be- 
gan with  a  dissertation  on  pilotage  in  the  Hugli.  I  had 
been  privileged  to  know  a  Hugli  pilot  intimately.  Fen- 
wick had  only  seen  the  imposing  and  masterful  breed 
from  a  ship's  chains,  and  his  intercourse  had  been  cut 
down  to  'Quarter  less  five,'  and  remarks  of  a  strictly 
business-like  nature.  Hereupon  he  ceased  to  talk  down 
to  me,  and  became  so  amazingly  technical  that  I  was 
forced  to  beg  him  to  explain  every  other  sentence.  This 
set  him  fully  at  his  ease;  and  then  we  spoke  as  men  to- 
gether, each  too  interested  to  think  of  anything  except 
the  subject  in  hand.  And  that  subject  was  wrecks,  and 
voyages,  and  old-time  trading,  and  ships  cast  away  in 
desolate  seas,  steamers  we  both  had  known,  their  merits 
and  demerits,  lading,  Lloyd's,  and,  above  all.  Lights. 
The  talk  always  came  back  to  Lights:  Lights  of  the 

6 


THE  DISTURBER  OF  TRAFFIC 

Channel;  Lights  on  forgotten  islands,  and  men  forgotten 
on  them ;  Light-ships — two  months'  duty  and  one  month's 
leave — tossing  on  kinked  cables  in  ever  troubled  tide- 
ways; and  Lights  that  men  had  seen  where  never  light- 
house was  marked  on  the  charts. 

Omitting  all  those  stories,  and  omitting  also  the  won- 
derful ways  by  which  he  arrived  at  them,  I  tell  here,  from 
Fenwick's  mouth,  one  that  was  not  the  least  amazing. 
It  was  delivered  in  pieces  between  the  roller-skate  rattle 
of  the  revolving  lenses,  the  bellowing  of  the  fog-horn  be- 
low, the  answering  calls  from  the  sea,  and  the  sharp  tap 
of  reckless  night-birds  that  flung  themselves  at  the 
glasses.  It  concerned  a  man  called  Dowse,  once  an  in- 
timate friend  of  Fenwick,  now  a  waterman  at  Ports- 
mouth, believing  that  the  guilt  of  blood  is  on  his  head, 
and  finding  no  rest  either  at  Portsmouth  or  Gosport 
Hard. 

.  .  .  '  And  if  anybody  was  to  come  to  you  and  say, 
"I  know  the  Javva  currents,"  don't  you  listen  to  him; 
for  those  currents  is  never  yet  known  to  mortal  man. 
Sometimes  they're  here,  sometimes  they're  there,  but 
they  never  runs  less  than  five  knots  an  hour  through  and 
among  those  islands  of  the  Eastern  Archipelagus.  There's 
reverse  currents  in  the  Gulf  of  Boni — and  that's  up  north 
in  Celebes — which  no  man  can  explain ;  and  through  all 
those  Jawa  passages  from  the  Bali  Narrows,  Dutch 
Gut,  and  Ombay,  which  I  take  it  is  the  safest,  they  chop 
and  they  change,  and  they  banks  the  tides  fust  on  one 
shore  and  then  on  another,  till  your  ship's  tore  in  two. 
I've  come  through  the  Bali  Narrows,  stern  first,  in  the 
heart  o'  the  southeast  monsoon,  with  sou'-sou'-west 
wind  blowing  atop  of  the  northerly  flood,  and  our  skipper 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

said  he  wouldn't  do  it  again,  not  for  all  Jamrach's. 
You've  heard  o'  Jamrach's,  sir?' 

'Yes;  and  was  Dowse  stationed  in  the  Bah  Narrows?' 
I  said. 

'No;  he  was  not  at  Bali,  but  much  more  east  o'  them 
passages,  and  that's  Flores  Strait,  at  the  east  end  o' 
Flores.  It's  all  on  the  way  south  to  Australia  when  you're 
running  through  that  Eastern  Archipelagus.  Some- 
times you  go  through  Bali  Narrows  if  you're  full-powered, 
and  sometimes  through  Flores  Strait,  so  as  to  stand 
south  at  once,  and  fetch  round  Timor,  keeping  well  clear 
o'  the  Sahul  Bank.  Elseways,  if  you  aren't  full-powered, 
why  it  stands  to  reason  you  go  round  by  the  Ombay 
Passage,  keeping  careful  to  the  north  side.  You  under- 
stand that,  sir? ' 

I  was  not  full-powered,  and  judged  it  safer  to  keep  to 
the  north  side — of  Silence. 

'  And  on  Flores  Strait,  in  the  fairway  between  Adonare 
Island  and  the  mainland,  they  put  Dowse  in  charge  of  a 
screw-pile  Light  called  the  Wurlee  Light.  It's  less  than 
a  mile  across  the  head  of  Flores  Strait.  Then  it  opens 
out  to  ten  or  twelve  mile  for  Solar  Strait,  and  then  it 
narrows  again  to  a  three-mile  gut,  with  a  topplin'  flamin' 
volcano  by  it.  That's  old  Loby  Toby  by  Loby  Toby 
Strait,  and  if  you  keep  his  Light  and  the  Wurlee  Light  in 
a  line  you  won't  take  much  harm,  not  on  the  darkest 
night.  That's  what  Dowse  told  me,  and  I  can  well  be- 
lieve him,  knowing  these  seas  myself;  but  you  must  ever 
be  mindful  of  the  currents.  And  there  they  put  Dowse, 
since  he  was  the  only  man  that  that  Dutch  Government 
which  owns  Flores  could  find  that  would  go  to  Wurlee 
and  tend  a  fixed  Light.  Mostly  they  uses  Dutch  and 
Italians;  Englishmen  being  said  to  drink  when  alone. 


THE  DISTURBER  OF  TRAFFIC 

I  never  could  rightly  find  out  what  made  Dowse  accept 
of  that  position,  but  accept  he  did,  and  used  to  sit  for  to 
watch  the  tigers  come  out  of  the  forests  to  hunt  for  crabs 
and  such  like  round  about  the  lighthouse  at  low  tide. 
The  water  was  always  warm  in  those  parts,  as  I  know 
well,  and  uncommon  sticky,  and  it  ran  with  the  tides  as 
thick  and  smooth  as  hogwash  in  a  trough.  There  was 
another  man  along  with  Dowse  in  the  Light,  but  he 
wasn't  rightly  a  man.  He  was  a  Kling.  No,  nor  yet  a 
Kling  he  wasn't,  but  his  skin  was  in  little  flakes  and 
cracks  all  over,  from  living  so  much  in  the  salt  water  as 
was  his  usual  custom.  His  hands  was  all  webby-foot, 
too.  He  was  called,  I  remember  Dowse  saying  now,  an 
Orange-Lord,  on  account  of  his  habits.  You've  heard 
of  an  Orange-Lord,  sir? ' 

*Orang-Laut?'  I  suggested. 

'That's  the  name,'  said  Fenwick,  smacking  his  knee. 
'An  Orang-Laut,  of  course,  and  his  name  was  Challong; 
what  they  call  a  sea-gipsy.  Dowse  told  me  that  that 
man,  long  hair  and  all,  would  go  swimming  up  and  down 
the  straits  just  for  something  to  do;  running  down  on 
one  tide  and  back  again  with  the  other,  swimming  side- 
stroke,  and  the  tides  going  tremenjus  strong.  Elseways 
he'd  be  skipping  about  the  beach  along  with  the  tigers 
at  low  tide,  for  he  was  most  part  a  beast;  or  he'd  sit  in  a 
little  boat  praying  to  old  Loby  Toby  of  an  evening  when 
the  volcano  was  spitting  red  at  the  south  end  of  the  strait. 
Dowse  told  me  that  he  wasn't  a  companionable  man, 
like  you  and  me  might  have  been  to  Dowse. 

*Now  I  can  never  rightly  come  at  what  it  was  that 
began  to  ail  Dowse  after  he  had  been  there  a  year  or 
something  less.  He  was  saving  of  all  his  pay  and  tend- 
ing to  his  Light,  and  now  and  again  he'd  have  a  fight  with 

9 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Challong  and  tip  him  off  the  Light  into  the  sea.  Then, 
he  told  me,  his  head  began  to  feel  streaky  from  looking 
at  the  tide  so  long.  He  said  there  was  long  streaks  of 
white  running  inside  it;  like  wall-paper  that  hadn't  been 
properly  pasted  up,  he  said.  The  streaks,  they  would 
run  with  the  tides,  north  and  south,  twice  a  day,  accord- 
in'  to  them  currents,  and  he'd  lie  down  on  the  planking 
— it  was  a  screw-pile  Light — with  his  eye  to  a  crack  and 
watch  the  water  streaking  through  the  piles  >ust  so  quiet 
as  hogwash.  He  said  the  only  comfort  he  got  was  at 
slack  water.  Then  the  streaks  in  his  head  went  round 
and  round  like  a  sampan  in  a  tide-rip ;  but  that  was  heaven, 
he  said,  to  the  other  kind  of  streaks — the  straight  ones  that 
looked  like  arrows  on  a  wind-chart,  but  much  more  regu- 
lar, and  that  was  the  trouble  of  it.  No  more  he  couldn't 
ever  keep  his  eyes  off  the  tides  that  ran  up  and  down  so 
strong,  but  as  soon  as  ever  he  looked  at  the  high  hills 
standing  all  along  Flores  Strait  for  rest  and  comfort,  his 
eyes  would  be  pulled  down  like  to  the  nesty  streaky 
water ;  and  when  they  once  got  there  he  couldn't  pull  them 
away  again  till  the  tide  changed.  He  told  me  ail  this 
himself,  speaking  just  as  though  he  was  talking  of  some- 
body else.' 

*  Where  did  you  meet  him?'  I  asked. 

*  In  Portsmouth  harbour,  a-cleaning  the  brasses  of  a 
Ryde  boat,  but  I'd  known  him  off  and  on  through  follow- 
ing the  sea  for  many  years.  Yes,  he  spoke  about  him- 
self very  curious,  and  all  as  if  he  was  in  the  next  room 
laying  there  dead.  Those  streaks,  they  preyed  upon  his 
intellecks,  he  said ;  and  he  made  up  his  mind,  every  time 
that  the  Dutch  gunboat  that  attends  to  the  Lights  in 
those  parts  come  along,  that  he'd  ask  to  be  took  off. 
But  as  soon  as  she  did  come  something  went  click  in  his 

10 


THE  DISTURBER  OF  TRAFFIC 

throat,  and  he  was  so  took  up  with  watching  her  masts, 
because  they  ran  longways,  in  the  contrary  direction  to 
his  streaks,  that  he  could  never  say  a  word  until  she  was 
gone  away  and  her  masts  was  under  sea  again.  Then, 
he  said,  he'd  cry  by  the  hour;  and  Challong  swum  round 
and  round  the  Light,  laughin'  at  him  and  splashin'  water 
with  his  webby-foot  hands.  At  last  he  took  it  into  his 
pore  sick  head  that  the  ships,  and  particularly  the  steam- 
ers that  came  by, — there  wasn't  many  of  them, — made 
the  streaks,  instead  of  the  tides  as  was  natural.  He  used 
to  sit,  he  told  me,  cursing  every  boat  that  come  along, — 
sometimes  a  junk,  sometimes  a  Dutch  brig,  and  now  and 
again  a  steamer  rounding  Flores  Head  and  poking  about 
in  the  mouth  of  the  strait.  Or  there'd  come  a  boat  from 
Australia  running  north  past  old  Loby  Toby  hunting  for 
a  fair  current,  but  never  throwing  out  any  papers  that 
Challong  might  pick  up  for  Dowse  to  read.  Generally 
speaking,  the  steamers  kept  more  westerly,  but  now  and 
again  they  came  looking  for  Timor  and  the  west  coast  of 
Australia.  Dowse  used  to  shout  to  them  to  go  round  by 
the  Ombay  Passage,  and  not  to  come  streaking  past  him 
making  the  water  all  streaky,  but  it  wasn't  likely  they'd 
hear.  He  says  to  himself  after  a  month,  "I'll  give  them 
one  more  chance,"  he  says.  "If  the  next  boat  don't 
attend  to  my  just  representations," — he  says  he  remem- 
bers using  those  very  words  to  Challong, — "  I'll  stop  the 
fairway." 

'The  next  boat  was  a  Two-streak  cargo-boat  very 
anxious  to  make  her  northing.  She  waddled  through 
under  old  Loby  Toby  at  the  south  end  of  the  strait,  and 
she  passed  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  the  Wurlee  Light 
at  the  north  end,  in  seventeen  fathom  o'  water,  the  tide 
against  her.     Dowse  took  the  trouble  to  come  out  with 

11 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Challong  in  a  little  prow  that  they  had, — all  bamboos 
and  leakage, — and  he  lay  in  the  fairway  waving  a  palm 
branch,  and,  so  he  told  me,  wondering  why  and  what  for 
he  was  making  this  fool  of  himself.  Up  come  the  Two- 
streak  boat,  and  Dowse  shouts :  "  Don't  you  come  this 
way  again,  making  my  head  all  streaky!  Go  round  by 
Ombay,  and  leave  me  alone."  Some  one  looks  over  the 
port  bulwarks  and  shies  a  banana  at  Dowse,  and  that's 
all.  Dowse  sits  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat  and 
cries  fit  to  break  his  heart.  Then  he  says,  "Challong, 
what  am  I  a-crying  for?"  and  they  fetches  up  by  the 
Wurlee  Light  on  the  half-flood. 

'  "Challong,"  he  says,  "there's  too  much  traffic  here, 
and  that's  why  the  water's  so  streaky  as  it  is.  It's  the 
junks  and  the  brigs  and  the  steamers  that  do  it,"  he  says; 
and  all  the  time  he  was  speaking  he  was  thinking,  "Lord, 
Lord,  what  a  crazy  fool  I  am!"  Challong  said  nothing, 
because  he  couldn't  speak  a  word  of  English  except  say 
"dam,"  and  he  said  that  where  you  or  me  would  say 
"yes."  Dowse  lay  down  on  the  planking  of  the  Light 
with  his  eye  to  the  crack,  and  he  saw  the  muddy  water 
streaking  below,  and  he  never  said  a  word  till  slack 
water,  because  the  streaks  kept  him  tongue-tied  at  such 
times.  At  slack  water  he  says,  "  Challong,  we  must  buoy 
this  fairway  for  wrecks,"  and  he  holds  up  his  hands  sev- 
eral times,  showing  that  dozens  of  wrecks  had  come 
about  in  the  fairway;  and  Challong  says,  "Dam." 

'  That  very  afternoon  he  and  Challong  rows  to  Wurlee, 
the  village  in  the  woods  that  the  Light  was  named  after, 
and  buys  canes, — stacks  and  stacks  of  canes,  and  coir 
rope  thick  and  fine,  all  sorts, — and  they  sets  to  work 
making  square  floats  by  lashing  of  the  canes  together. 
Dowse  said  he  took  longer  over  those  floats  than  might 

12 


THE  DISTURBER  OF  TRAFFIC 

have  been  needed,  because  he  rejoiced  m  the  corners, 
they  being  square,  and  the  streaks  in  his  head  all  run- 
ning longways.  He  lashed  the  canes  together,  criss- 
cross and  thwartways, — any  way  but  longways, — and 
they  made  up  a  dozen  twelve-foot-square  floats,  like 
rafts.  Then  he  stepped  a  twelve-foot  bamboo  or  a  bun- 
dle of  canes  in  the  centre,  and  to  the  head  of  that  he 
lashed  a  big  six-foot  W  letter,  all  made  of  canes,  and 
painted  the  float  dark  green  and  the  W  white,  as  a  wreck 
buoy  should  be  painted.  Between  them  two  they  makes 
a  round  dozen  of  these  new  kind  of  wreck-buoys,  and  it 
was  a  two  months'  job.  There  was  no  big  traffic,  owing 
to  it  being  on  the  turn  of  the  monsoon,  but  what  there 
was  Dowse  cursed  at,  and  the  streaks  in  his  head,  they 
ran  with  the  tides,  as  usual. 

'  Day  after  day,  so  soon  as  a  buoy  was  ready,  Challong 
would  take  it  out,  with  a  big  rock  that  half  sunk  the 
prow  and  a  bamboo  grapnel,  and  drop  it  dead  in  the  fair- 
way. He  did  this  day  or  night,  and  Dowse  could  see 
him  of  a  clear  night,  when  the  sea  brimed,  climbing  about 
the  buoys  with  the  sea-fire  dripping  off  him.  They  was 
all  put  into  place,  twelve  of  them,  in  seventeen-fathom 
water;  not  in  a  straight  line,  on  account  of  a  well-known 
shoal  there,  but  slantways,  and  two,  one  behind  the 
other,  mostly  in  the  centre  of  the  fairway.  You  must 
keep  the  centre  of  those  Jawa  currents,  for  currents  at 
the  side  is  different,  and  in  narrow  water,  before  you  can 
turn  a  spoke,  you  get  your  nose  took  round  and  rubbed 
upon  the  rocks  and  the  woods.  Dowse  knew  that  just 
as  well  as  any  skipper.  Likeways  he  knew  that  no  skip- 
per daren't  run  through  uncharted  wrecks  in  a  six-knot 
current.  He  told  me  he  used  to  lie  outside  the  Light 
watching  his  buoys  ducking  and  dipping  so  friendly  with 

13 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

the  tide;  and  the  motion  was  comforting  to  him  on  ac- 
count of  its  being  different  from  the  run  of  the  streaks  in 
his  head. 

'Three  weeks  after  he'd  done  his  business  up  comes  a 
steamer  through  Loby  Toby  Straits,  thinking  she'd  run 
into  Flores  Sea  before  night.  He  saw  her  slow  down; 
then  she  backed.  Then  one  man  and  another  come  up 
on  the  bridge,  and  he  could  see  there  was  a  regular  pow- 
wow, and  the  flood  was  driving  her  right  on  to  Dowse's 
wreck-buoys.  After  that  she  spun  round  and  went  back 
south,  and  Dowse  nearly  killed  himself  with  laughing. 
But  a  few  weeks  after  that  a  couple  of  junks  came  shoul- 
dering through  from  the  north,  arm  in  arm,  like  junks 
go.  It  takes  a  good  deal  to  make  a  Chinaman  under- 
stand danger.  They  junks  set  well  in  the  current,  and 
went  down  the  fairway,  right  among  the  buoys,  ten 
knots  an  hour,  blowing  horns  and  banging  tin  pots  all 
the  time.  That  made  Dowse  very  angry;  he  having 
taken  so  much  trouble  to  stop  the  fairway.  No  boats 
run  Flores  Straits  by  night,  but  it  seemed  to  Dowse  that 
if  junks'd  do  that  in  the  day,  the  Lord  knew  but  what  a 
steamer  might  trip  over  his  buoys  at  night;  and  he  sent 
Challong  to  run  a  coir  rope  between  three  of  the  buoys 
in  the  middle  of  the  fairway,  and  he  fixed  naked  lights 
of  coir  steeped  in  oil  to  that  rope.  The  tides  was  the 
only  things  that  moved  in  those  seas,  for  the  airs  was 
dead  still  till  they  began  to  blow,  and  then  they  would 
blow  your  hair  off.  Challong  tended  those  lights  ever>^ 
night  after  the  junks  had  been  so  impident, — four  lights 
in  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  hung  up  in  iron  skillets  on 
the  rope ;  and  when  they  was  alight, — and  coir  burns  well, 
very  like  a  lamp  wick, — the  fairway  seemed  more  mad- 
-der  than  anything  else  in  the  world.    First  there  was  the 

14 


THE  DISTURBER  OF  TRAFFIC 

Wurlee  Light,  then  these  four  queer  lights  that  couldn't 
be  riding-lights,  almost  flush  with  the  water,  and  behind 
them,  twenty  mile  off,  but  the  biggest  light  of  all,  there 
was  the  red  top  of  old  Loby  Toby  volcano.  Dowse  told 
me  that  he  used  to  go  out  in  the  prow  and  look  at  his 
handiwork,  and  it  made  him  scared,  being  like  no  lights 
that  ever  was  flxed. 

'By  and  by  some  more  steamers  came  along,  snorting 
and  snifting  at  the  buoys,  but  never  going  through,  and 
Dowse  says  to  himself:  "Thank  goodness  I've  taught 
them  not  to  come  streaking  through  my  water.  Ombay 
Passage  is  good  enough  for  them  and  the  like  of  them." 
But  he  didn't  remember  how  quick  that  sort  of  news 
spreads  among  the  shipping.  Every  steamer  that 
fetched  up  by  those  buoys  told  another  steamer  and  all 
the  port  ofTicers  concerned  in  those  seas  that  there  was 
something  wrong  with  Flores  Straits  that  hadn't  been 
charted  yet.  It  was  block-buoyed  for  wrecks  in  the 
fairway,  they  said,  and  no  sort  of  passage  to  use.  Well, 
the  Dutch,  of  course  they  didn't  know  anything  about  it. 
They  thought  our  Admiralty  Survey  had  been  there, 
and  they  thought  it  very  queer  but  neighbourly.  You 
understand  us  English  are  always  looking  up  marks  and 
lighting  sea-ways  all  the  world  over,  never  asking  with 
your  leave  or  by  your  leave,  seeing  that  the  sea  concerns 
us  more  than  any  one  else.  So  the  news  went  to  and 
back  from  Flores  to  Bali,  and  Bali  to  Probolingo,  where 
the  railway  is  that  runs  to  Batavia.  All  through  them 
Jawa  seas  everybody  got  the  word  to  keep  clear  o' 
Flores  Straits,  and  Dowse,  he  was  left  alone  except  for 
such  steamers  and  small  craft  as  didn't  know.  They'd 
come  up  and  look  at  the  straits  like  a  bull  over  a  gate, 
but  those  nodding  wreck-buoys  scared  them  away.    By 

15 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

and  by  the  Admiralty  Survey  ship — the  "Britomarte" 
I  think  she  was — lay  in  Macassar  Roads  off  Fort  Rotter- 
dam, alongside  of  the  "Amboina,"  a  dirty  little  Dutch 
gunboat  that  used  to  clean  there;  and  the  Dutch  captain 
says  to  our  captain,  "What's  wrong  with  Flores  Straits?" 
he  says. 

'  "Blowed  if  I  know,"  says  our  captain,  who'd  just 
come  up  from  the  Angelica  Shoal. 

'  "Then  why  did  you  go  and  buoy  it? "  says  the  Dutch- 
man. 

'  "Blowed  if  I  have,"  says  our  captain.  "That's  your 
lookout." 

'  "Buoyed  it  is,"  says  the  Dutch  captain,  "according 
to  what  they  tell  me;  and  a  whole  fleet  of  wreck-buoys, 
too." 

'  "Gummy!"  says  our  captain.  "It's  a  dorg's  life  at 
sea,  any  way.  I  must  have  a  look  at  this.  You  come 
along  after  me  as  soon  as  you  can  " ;  and  down  he  skipped 
that  very  night,  round  the  heel  of  Celebes,  three  days' 
steam  to  Flores  Head,  and  he  met  a  Two-streak  liner, 
very  angry,  backing  out  of  the  head  of  the  strait;  and 
the  merchant  captain  gave  our  Survey  ship  something 
of  his  mind  for  leaving  wrecks  uncharted  in  those  narrow 
waters  and  wasting  his  company's  coal. 

'  "  It's  no  fault  o*  mine,"  says  our  captain. 

'  "I  don't  care  whose  fault  it  is,"  says  the  merchant 
captain,  who  had  come  aboard  to  speak  to  him  just  at 
dusk.  "The  fairway's  choked  with  wreck  enough  to 
knock  a  hole  through  a  dock-gate.  I  saw  their  big  ugly 
masts  sticking  up  just  under  my  forefoot.  Lord  ha' 
mercy  on  us!"  he  says,  spinning  round.  "The  place  is 
like  Regent  Street  of  a  hot  summer  night." 

'And  so  it  was.    They  two  looked  at  Flores  Straits, 

16 


THE  DISTURBER  OF  TRAFFIC 

and  they  saw  lights  one  after  the  other  stringing  across 
the  fairway.  Dowse,  he  had  seen  the  steamers  hanging 
about  there  before  dark,  and  he  said  to  Challong:  "We'll 
give  'em  something  to  remember.  Get  all  the  skillets 
and  iron  pots  you  can  and  hang  them  up  alongside  o'  the 
regular  four  lights.  We  must  teach  'em  to  go  round  by 
the  Ombay  Passage,  or  they'll  be  streaking  up  our  water 
again ! "  Challong  took  a  header  off  the  lighthouse,  got 
aboard  the  little  leaking  prow,  with  his  coir  soaked  in  oil 
and  all  the  skillets  he  could  muster,  and  be  began  to  show 
his  lights,  four  regulation  ones  and  half-a-dozen  new 
lights  hung  on  that  rope  which  was  a  little  above  the 
water.  Then  he  went  to  all  the  spare  buoys  with  all  his 
spare  coir,  and  hung  a  skillet-flare  on  every  pole  that  he 
could  get  at, — about  seven  poles.  So  you  see,  taking 
one  with  another,  there  was  the  Wurlee  Light,  four  lights 
on  the  rope  between  the  three  centre  fairway  wreck- 
buoys  that  was  hung  out  as  a  usual  custom,  six  or  eight 
extry  ones  that  Challong  had  hung  up  on  the  same  rope, 
and  seven  dancing  flares  that  belonged  to  seven  wreck- 
buoys, — eighteen  or  twenty  lights  in  all  crowded  into  a 
mile  of  seventeen-fathom  water,  where  no  tide'd  ever 
let  a  wreck  rest  for  three  weeks,  let  alone  ten  or  twelve 
wrecks,  as  the  flares  showed. 

'The  Admiralty  captain,  he  saw  the  lights  come  out 
one  after  another,  same  as  the  merchant  skipper  did  who 
was  standing  at  his  side,  and  he  said : — 

'  "There's  been  an  international  cata-strophe  here  or 
elseways,"  and  then  he  whistled.  "I'm  going  to  stand 
on  and  off  all  night  till  the  Dutchman  comes,"  he  says. 

'  "  I'm  off,"  says  the  merchant  skipper.  "  My  owners 
don't  wish  for  me  to  watch  illuminations.  That  strait's 
choked  with  wreck,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  a  typhoon 

17 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

hadn't  driven  half  the  junks  o'  China  there."  With 
that  he  went  away;  but  the  Survey  ship,  she  stayed  all 
night  at  the  head  o'  Flores  Strait,  and  the  men  admired 
of  the  lights  till  the  lights  was  burning  out,  and  then  they 
admired  more  than  ever. 

'A  little  bit  before  morning  the  Dutch  gunboat  come 
flustering  up,  and  the  two  ships  stood  together  watching 
the  lights  burn  out  and  out,  till  there  was  nothing  left 
'cept  Flores  Straits,  all  green  and  wet,  and  a  dozen  wreck- 
buoys,  and  Wurlee  Light. 

*  Dowse  had  slept  very  quiet  that  night,  and  got  rid  of 
his  streaks  by  means  of  thinking  of  the  angry  steamers 
outside.  Challong  was  busy,  and  didn't  come  back  to 
his  bunk  till  late.  In  the  gray  early  morning  Dowse 
looked  out  to  sea,  being,  as  he  said,  in  torment,  and  saw 
all  the  navies  of  the  world  riding  outside  Flores  Strait 
fairway  in  a  half-moon,  seven  miles  from  wing  to  wing, 
most  wonderful  to  behold.  Those  were  the  words  he 
used  to  me  time  and  again  in  telling  the  tale. 

'Then,  he  says,  he  heard  a  gun  fired  with  a  most  tre- 
menjus  explosion,  and  all  them  great  navies  crumbled  to 
little  pieces  of  clouds,  and  there  was  only  two  ships  re- 
maining, and  a  man-o'-war's  boat  rowing  to  the  Light, 
with  the  oars  going  sideways  instead  o'  longways  as  the 
morning  tides,  ebb  or  flow,  would  continually  run. 

*  "What  the  devil's  wrong  with  this  strait?"  says  a 
man  in  the  boat  as  soon  as  they  was  in  hailing  distance. 
'*Has  the  whole  English  Navy  sunk  here,  or  what?" 

*  "There's  nothing  wrong,"  says  Dowse,  sitting  on 
the  platform  outside  the  Light,  and  keeping  one  eye 
very  watchful  on  the  streakiness  of  the  tide,  which  he 
always  hated,  'specially  in  the  mornings.  "You  leave 
me  alone  and  I'll  leave  you  alone.    Go  round  by  the  Om- 

18 


THE  DISTURBER  OF  TRAFFIC 

bay  Passage,  and  don't  cut  up  my  water.  You're  mak- 
ing it  streaky."  All  the  time  he  was  saying  that  he  kept 
on  thinking  to  himself,  "Now  that's  fooUshness, — now 
that's  nothing  but  fooHshness";  and  all  the  time  he  was 
holding  tight  to  the  edge  of  the  platform  in  case  the 
streakiness  of  the  tide  should  carry  him  away. 

'  Somebody  answers  from  the  boat,  very  soft  and  quiet, 
"We're  going  round  by  Ombay  in  a  minute,  if  you'll  just 
come  and  speak  to  our  captain  and  give  him  his  bearings." 

'  Dowse,  he  felt  very  highly  flattered,  and  he  slipped 
into  the  boat,  not  paying  any  attention  to  Ghallong. 
But  Ghallong  swum  along  to  the  ship  after  the  boat. 
When  Dowse  was  in  the  boat,  he  found,  so  he  says,  he 
couldn't  speak  to  the  sailors  'cept  to  call  them  "white 
mice  with  chains  about  their  neck,"  and  Lord  knows  he 
hadn't  seen  or  thought  o'  white  mice  since  he  was  a  little 
bit  of  a  boy  with  them  in  his  hankerchief.  So  he  kept 
himself  quiet,  and  so  they  come  to  the  Survey  ship;  and 
the  man  in  the  boat  hails  the  quarter-deck  with  some- 
thing that  Dowse  could  not  rightly  understand,  but 
there  was  one  word  he  spelt  out  again  and  again, — 
m-a-d,  mad, — and  he  heard  some  one  behind  him  saying 
of  it  backwards.  So  he  had  two  words, — m-a-d,  mad, 
d-a-m,  dam;  and  he  put  the  two  words  together  as  he 
come  on  the  quarter-deck,  and  he  says  to  the  captain 
very  slowly,  "I  be  damned  if  I  am  mad,"  but  all  the 
time  his  eye  was  held  like  by  the  coils  of  rope  on  the  be- 
laying pins,  and  he  followed  those  ropes  up  and  up  with 
his  eye  till  he  was  quite  lost  and  comfortable  among  the 
rigging,  which  ran  criss-cross,  and  slopeways,  and  up  and 
down,  and  any  way  but  straight  along  under  his  feet 
north  and  south.  The  deck-seams,  they  ran  that  way, 
and  Dowse  daresn't  look  at  them.    They  was  the  same 

19 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

as  the  streaks  of  the  water  under  the  planking  of  the 
lighthouse. 

'Then  he  heard  the  captain  talking  to  him  very  kind, 
and  for  the  life  of  him  he  couldn't  tell  why;  and  what  he 
wanted  to  tell  the  captain  was  that  Flores  Strait  was  too 
streaky,  like  bacon,  and  the  steamers  only  made  it  worse; 
but  all  he  could  do  was  to  keep  his  eye  very  careful  on 
the  rigging  and  sing : — 

' "  I  saw  a  ship  a-sailing, 
A-sailing  on  the  sea; 
And  oh,  it  was  all  lading 
With  pretty  things  for  me ! " 

Then  he  remembered  that  was  foolishness,  and  he  started 
off  to  say  about  the  Ombay  Passage,  but  all  he  said  was : 
"The  captain  was  a  duck, — meaning  no  offence  to  you, 
sir, — but  there  was  something  on  his  back  that  I've  for- 
gotten. 

"And  when  the  ship  began  to  move 
The  captain  says,  *  Quack-quack ! '  " 

'  He  notices  the  captain  turns  very  red  and  angry,  and 
he  says  to  himself,  "My  foolish  tongue's  run  away  with 
me  again.  I'll  go  forward";  and  he  went  forward,  and 
catched  the  reflection  of  himself  in  the  binnacle  brasses; 
and  he  saw  that  he  was  standing  there  and  talking  mother- 
naked  in  front  of  all  them  sailors,  and  he  ran  into  the 
fo'c's'le  howling  most  grievous.  He  must  ha'  gone  naked 
for  weeks  on  the  Light,  and  Challong  o'  course  never 
noticed  it.  Challong  was  swimmin'  round  and  round 
the  ship,  say  in'  "dam"  for  to  please  the  men  and  to  be 
took  aboard,  because  he  didn't  know  any  better. 

20 


THE  DISTURBER  OF  TRAFFIC 

'Dowse  didn't  tell  what  happened  after  this,  but 
seemingly  our  Survey  ship  lowered  two  boats  and  went 
over  to  Dowse's  buoys.  They  took  one  sounding,  and 
then  finding  it  was  all  correct  they  cut  the  buoys  that 
Dowse  and  Challong  had  made,  and  let  the  tide  carr>^ 
'em  out  through  the  Loby  Toby  end  of  the  strait;  and 
the  Dutch  gunboat,  she  sent  two  men  ashore  to  take 
care  o'  the  Wurlee  Light,  and  the  "Britomarte,"  she 
we.it  away  with  Dowse,  leaving  Challong  to  try  to  follow 
them,  a-calling  "dam — dam"  all  among  the  wake  of  the 
screw,  and  half  heaving  himself  out  of  water  and  joining 
his  webby-foot  hands  together.  He  dropped  astern  in 
five  minutes,  and  I  suppose  he  went  back  to  the  Wurlee 
Light.  You  can't  drown  an  Orange-Lord,  not  even  in 
Flores  Strait  on  flood-tide. 

'Dowse  come  across  me  when  he  came  to  England 
with  the  Survey  ship,  after  being  more  than  six  months 
in  her,  and  cured  of  his  streaks  by  working  hard  and  not 
looking  over  the  side  more  than  he  could  help.  He  told 
me  what  I've  told  you,  sir,  and  he  was  very  much  ashamed 
of  himself;  but  the  trouble  on  his  mind  was  to  know 
whether  he  hadn't  sent  something  or  other  to  the  bottom 
with  his  buoyings  and  his  lightings  and  such  like.  He 
put  it  to  me  many  times,  and  each  time  more  and  more 
sure  he  was  that  something  had  happened  in  the  straits 
because  of  him.  I  think  that  distructed  him,  because  I 
found  him  up  at  Fratton  one  day,  in  a  red  jersey,  a-p ray- 
ing before  the  Salvation  Army,  which  had  produced  him 
in  their  papers  as  a  Reformed  Pirate.  They  knew  from 
his  mouth  that  he  had  committed  evil  on  the  deep  waters, 
— that  was  what  he  told  them, — and  piracy,  which  no 
one  does  now  except  Chineses,  was  all  they  knew  of.  I 
says  to  him :  '*  Dowse,  don't  be  a  fool.    Take  off  that 

21 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

jersey  and  come  along  with  me."  He  says:  "Fenwick, 
I'm  a-saving  of  my  soul ;  for  I  do  believe  that  I  have  killed 
more  men  in  Flores  Strait  than  Trafalgar."  I  says:  "A 
man  that  thought  he'd  seen  all  the  navies  of  the  earth 
standing  round  in  a  ring  to  watch  his  foolish  false  wreck- 
buoys"  (those  was  my  very  words  I  used)  "ain't  fit  to 
have  a  soul,  and  if  he  did  he  couldn't  kill  a  louse  with  it. 
John  Dowse,  you  was  mad  then,  but  you  are  a  damn 
sight  madder  now.     Take  off  that  there  jersey ! " 

*He  took  it  off  and  come  along  with  me,  but  he  never 
got  rid  o'  that  suspicion  that  he'd  sunk  some  ships  a- 
cause  of  his  foolishnesses  at  Flores  Straits;  and  now  he's 
a  wherryman  from  Portsmouth  to  Gosport,  where  the 
tides  run  crossways  and  you  can't  row  straight  for  ten 
strokes  together.     ...     So  late  as  all  this !     Look ! ' 

Fenwick  left  his  chair,  passed  to  the  Light,  touched 
something  that  clicked,  and  the  glare  ceased  with  a  sud- 
denness that  was  pain.  Day  had  come,  and  the  Channel 
needed  St.  Cecilia  no  longer.  The  sea-fog  rolled  back 
from  the  cliffs  in  trailed  wreaths  and  dragged  patches, 
as  the  sun  rose  and  made  the  dead  sea  alive  and  splendid. 
The  stillness  of  the  morning  held  us  both  silent  as  we 
stepped  on  the  balcony.  A  lark  went  up  from  the  cliffs 
behind  St.  Cecilia,  and  we  smelt  a  smell  of  cows  in  the 
lighthouse  pastures  below. 

Then  we  were  both  at  liberty  to  thank  the  Lord  fo" 
another  day  of  clean  and  wholesome  life 


22 


A  CONFERENCE  OF  THE  POWERS 

(1890) 

Life  liveth  but  in  life,  and  doth  not  roam 
To  other  lands  if  all  be  well  at  home : 
'Solid  as  ocean  foam,'  quotii  ocean  foam. 

THE  room  was  blue  with  the  smoke  of  three  pipes 
and  a  cigar.  The  leave-season  had  opened  in 
India,  and  the  firstfruits  on  this  side  of  the  water 
were  'Tick'  Boileau,  of  the  45th  Bengal  Cavalry,  who 
called  on  me,  after  three  years'  absence,  to  discuss  old 
things  which  had  happened.  Fate,  who  always  does 
her  work  handsomely,  sent  up  the  same  staircase  within 
the  same  hour  The  Infant,  fresh  from  Upper  Burma, 
and  he  and  Boileau  looking  out  of  my  window  saw  walk' 
ing  in  the  street  one  Nevin,  late  in  a  Gurkha  regiment 
which  had  been  through  the  Black  Mountain  Expedition. 
They  yelled  to  him  to  come  up,  and  the  whole  street  was 
aware  that  they  desired  him  to  come  up,  and  he  came  up, 
and  there  followed  Pandemonium  in  my  room  because  we 
had  forgathered  from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  three  of 
us  were  on  a  holiday,  and  none  of  us  were  twenty-five,  and 
all  the  delights  of  all  London  lay  waiting  our  pleasure. 

Boileau  took  the  only  other  chair,  The  Infant,  by  right 
of  his  bulk,  the  sofa;  and  Nevin,  being  a  little  man,  sat 
cross-legged  on  the  top  of  the  revolving  bookcase,  and  we 

^3 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

all  said,  'Who'd  ha'  thought  it!'  and  'What  are  you 
doing  here?'  till  speculation  was  exhausted  and  the  talk 
went  over  to  inevitable  'shop.'  Boileau  was  full  of  a 
great  scheme  for  winning  a  military  attache-ship  at  St. 
Petersburg;  Nevin  had  hopes  of  the  Staff  College,  and 
The  Infant  had  been  moving  heaven  and  earth  and  the 
Horse  Guards  for  a  commission  in  the  Egyptian  army. 

'What's  the  use  o'  that?'  said  Nevin,  twirling  round 
on  the  bookcase. 

'Oh,  heaps!  'Course,  if  you  get  stuck  with  a  Fella- 
heen regiment,  you're  sold;  but  if  you  are  appointed  to  a 
Soudanese  lot,  you're  in  clover.  They  are  first-class 
fighting-men — and  just  think  of  the  eligible  central  po- 
sition of  Egypt  in  the  next  row.' 

This  was  putting  the  match  to  a  magazine.  We  all 
began  to  explain  the  Central  Asian  question  off-hand, 
flinging  army  corps  from  the  Helmund  to  Kashmir  with 
more  than  Russian  recklessness.  Each  of  the  boys  made 
for  himself  a  war  to  his  own  liking,  and  when  we  had 
settled  all  the  details  of  Armageddon,  killed  all  our 
senior  officers,  handled  a  division  apiece,  and  nearly  torn 
the  Atlas  in  two  in  attempts  to  explain  our  theories, 
Boileau  needs  must  lift  up  his  voice  above  the  clamour, 
and  cry,  *  Anyhow  it'll  be  the  Hell  of  a  row ! '  in  tones  that 
carried  conviction  far  down  the  staircase. 

Entered,  unperceived  in  the  smoke,  William  the  Si- 
lent. 'Gen'elman  to  see  you,  sir,'  said  he,  and  disap- 
peared, leaving  in  his  stead  none  other  than  Mr.  Eustace 
Cleever.  William  would  have  introduced  the  Dragon 
of  Wantley  with  equal  disregard  of  present  company. 

'  I — I  beg  your  pardon.  I  didn't  know  that  there  was 
anybody — with  you .     I — ' 

But  it  was  not  seemly  to  allow  Mr.  Cleever  to  depart: 

24 


A  CONFERENCE  OF  THE  POWERS 

he  was  a  great  man.  The  boys  remained  where  they 
were,  for  any  movement  would  have  choked  up  the  Uttle 
room.  Only  when  they  saw  his  gray  hairs  they  stood  on 
their  feet,  and  when  The  Infant  caught  the  name,  he  said : 

'Are  you — did  you  write  that  book  called  "As  it  was 
in  the  Beginning"?' 

Mr.  Cleever  admitted  that  he  had  written  the  book. 

'Then — then  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you,  sir,' 
said  The  Infant,  flushing  pink.  'I  was  brought  up  in 
the  country  you  wrote  about — all  my  people  live  there ; 
and  I  read  the  book  in  camp  on  the  Hlinedatalone,  and  I 
knew  every  stick  and  stone,  and  the  dialect  too;  and,  by 
Jove!  it  was  just  like  being  at  home  and  hearing  the 
country-people  talk.  Nevin,  you  know  "As  it  was  in 
the  Beginning"?     So  does  Ti — Boileau.' 

Mr.  Cleever  has  tasted  as  much  praise,  public  and 
private,  as  one  man  may  safely  swallow;  but  it  seemed 
to  me  that  the  outspoken  admiration  in  The  Infant's 
eyes  and  the  little  stir  in  the  little  company  came  home 
to  him  very  nearly  indeed. 

'Won't  you  take  the  sofa?'  said  The  Infant.  'I'll 
sit  on  Boileau's  chair;  and' — here  he  looked  at  me  to 
spur  me  to  my  duties  as  a  host;  but  I  was  watching  the 
novelist's  face.  Cleever  had  not  the  least  intention  of 
going  away,  but  settled  himself  on  the  sofa. 

Following  the  first  great  law  of  the  Army,  which  says 
'  all  property  is  common  except  money,  and  you've  only 
got  to  ask  the  next  man  for  that,'  The  Infant  offered 
tobacco  and  drink.  It  was  the  least  he  could  do;  but 
not  the  most  lavish  praise  in  the  world  held  half  as  much 
appreciation  and  reverence  as  The  Infant's  simple  'Say 
when,  sir,'  above  the  long  glass. 

Cleever  said  'when,'  and  more  thereto,  for  he  was  a 

25 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

golden  talker,  and  he  sat  in  the  midst  of  hero-worship 
devoid  of  all  taint  of  self-interest.  The  boys  asked  him 
of  the  birth  of  his  book  and  whether  it  was  hard  to  write, 
and  how  his  notions  came  to  him;  and  he  answered  with 
the  same  absolute  simplicity  as  he  was  questioned.  His 
big  eyes  twinkled,  he  dug  his  long  thin  hands  into  his 
gray  beard  and  tugged  it  as  he  grew  animated.  He 
dropped  little  by  little  from  the  peculiar  pinching  of  the 
broader  vowels — the  indefmable '  Euh,'  that  runs  through 
the  speech  of  the  pundit  caste — and  the  elaborate  choice 
of  words,  to  freely-mouthed '  ows'  and '  ois,'  and,  for  him  at 
least,  unfettered  colloquialisms.  He  could  not  altogether 
understand  the  boys,  who  hung  upon  his  words  so  rever- 
ently. The  line  of  the  chin-strap,  that  still  showed 
white  and  untanned  on  cheek-bone  and  jaw,  the  stead- 
fast young  eyes  puckered  at  the  corners  of  the  lids  with 
much  staring  through  red-hot  sunshine,  the  slow,  un- 
troubled breathing,  and  the  curious,  crisp,  curt  speech 
seemed  to  puzzle  him  equally.  He  could  create  men 
and  women,  and  send  them  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the 
earth,  to  help  delight  and  comfort ;  he  knew  every  mood 
of  the  fields,  and  could  interpret  them  to  the  cities,  and 
he  knew  the  hearts  of  many  in  city  and  the  country,  but 
he  had  hardly,  in  forty  years,  come  into  contact  with 
the  thing  which  is  called  a  Subaltern  of  the  Line.  He 
told  the  boys  this  in  his  own  way. 

'Well,  how  should  you?'  said  The  Infant.  'You — 
you're  quite  different,  y'  see,  sir.' 

The  Infant  expressed  his  ideas  in  his  tone  rather  than 
his  words,  but  Cleever  understood  the  compliment. 

'We're  only  Subs,'  said  Nevin,  'and  we  aren't  exactly 
the  sort  of  men  you'd  meet  much  in  your  life,  I  s'pose.' 

'That's  true,'  said  Cleever.     'I  live  chiefly  among 

26 


A  CONFERENCE  OF  THE  POWERS 

men  who  write  and  paint,  and  sculp,  and  so  forth.  We 
have  our  own  talk  and  our  own  interests,  and  the  outer 
world  doesn't  trouble  us  much.' 

'That  must  be  awfully  jolly,'  said  Boileau,  at  a  ven- 
ture. 'We  have  our  own  shop,  too,  but  'tisn't  half  as 
interesting  as  yours,  of  course.  You  know  all  the  men 
who've  ever  done  anything;  and  we  only  knock  about 
from  place  to  place,  and  we  do  nothing.' 

'  The  Army's  a  very  lazy  profession  if  you  choose  to 
make  it  so,'  said  Nevin.  'When  there's  nothing  going 
on,  there  is  nothing  going  on,  and  you  lie  up.' 

'  Or  try  to  get  a  billet  somewhere,  to  be  ready  for  the 
next  show,'  said  The  Infant  with  a  chuckle. 

'To  me,'  said  Cleever  softly,  'the  whole  idea  of  war- 
fare seems  so  foreign  and  unnatural,  so  essentially  vul- 
gar, if  I  may  say  so,  that  I  can  hardly  appreciate  your 
sensations.  Of  course,  though,  any  change  from  life  in 
garrison  towns  must  be  a  godsend  to  you.' 

Like  many  home-staying  Englishmen,  Cleever  be- 
lieved that  the  newspaper  phrase  he  quoted  covered  the 
whole  duty  of  the  Army  whose  toils  enabled  him  to  en- 
joy his  many-sided  life  in  peace.  The  remark  was  not  a 
happy  one,  for  Boileau  had  just  come  off  the  Frontier, 
The  Infant  had  been  on  the  warpath  for  nearly  eighteen 
months,  and  the  little  red  man  Nevin  two  months  before 
had  been  sleeping  under  the  stars  at  the  peril  of  his  life. 
But  none  of  them  tried  to  explain,  till  I  ventured  to 
point  out  that  they  had  all  seen  service  and  were  not 
used  to  idling.     Cleever  took  in  the  idea  slowly. 

*Seen  service?'  said  he.  Then,  as  a  child  might  ask. 
'  Tell  me.     Tell  me  everything  about  everything.' 

'How  do  you  mean?'  said  The  Infant,  delighted  at  be- 
ing directly  appealed  to  by  the  great  man. 

27 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

'  Good  Heavens !  How  am  I  to  make  you  understand 
if  you  can't  see.     In  the  first  place,  what  is  your  age? ' 

'Twenty-three  next  July,'  said  The  Infant  promptly. 

Cleever  questioned  the  others  with  his  eyes. 

'I'm  twenty-four,'  said  Nevin. 

'And  I'm  twenty-two,'  said  Boileau. 

'  And  you've  all  seen  service? ' 

'  We've  all  knocked  about  a  little  bit,  sir,  but  The  In- 
fant's the  war-worn  veteran.  He's  had  two  years'  work 
in  Upper  Burma,'  said  Nevin. 

'  When  you  say  work,  what  do  you  mean,  you  extra- 
ordinary creatures?' 

'Explain  it.  Infant,'  said  Nevin. 

'Oh,  keeping  things  in  order  generally,  and  running 
about  after  little  dakus — that's  dacoits — and  so  on. 
There's  nothing  to  explain.' 

'Make  that  young  Leviathan  speak,'  said  Cleever  im- 
patiently, above  his  glass. 

'How  can  he  speak?'  said  I.  'He's  done  the  work. 
The  two  don't  go  together.  But,  Infant,  you're  ordered 
to  bukh.' 

'What  about?     I'll  try.' 

'Bukh  about  a  daur.  You've  been  on  heaps  of  'em,' 
said  Nevin. 

'  What  in  the  world  does  that  mean?  Has  the  Army 
a  language  of  its  own? ' 

The  Infant  turned  very  red.  He  was  afraid  he  was 
being  laughed  at,  and  he  detested  talking  before  out- 
siders; but  it  was  the  author  of  'As  it  was  in  the  Begin- 
ning'who  waited. 

*It's  all  so  new  to  me,'  pleaded  Cleever;  'and — and 
you  said  you  liked  my  book.' 

This  was  a  direct  appeal  that  The  Infant  could  under- 

28 


A  CONFERENCE  OF  THE  POWERS 

stand,  and  he  began  rather  flurriedly,  with  much  slang 
bred  of  nervousness — 

*Pull  me  up,  sir,  if  I  say  anything  you  don't  follow. 
About  six  months  before  I  took  my  leave  out  of  Burma, 
I  was  on  the  Hlinedatalone,  up  near  the  Shan  States,  with 
sixty  Tommies — private  soldiers,  that  is — and  another 
subaltern,  a  year  senior  to  me.  The  Burmese  business 
was  a  subaltern's  war,  and  our  forces  were  split  up  into 
little  detachments,  all  running  about  the  country  and 
trying  to  keep  the  dacoits  quiet.  The  dacoits  were  hav- 
ing a  first-class  time,  y'know — filling  women  up  with  ker- 
osene and  setting  'em  alight,  and  burning  villages,  and 
crucifying  people.' 

The  wonder  in  Eustace  Cleever's  eyes  deepened.  He 
could  not  quite  realise  that  the  Cross  still  existed  in  any 
form. 

'Have  you  ever  seen  a  crucifixion?'  said  he. 

*0f  course  not.  'Shouldn't  have  allowed  it  if  I  had; 
but  I've  seen  the  corpses.  The  dacoits  had  a  trick  of 
sending  a  crucified  corpse  down  the  river  on  a  raft,  just 
to  show  they  were  keeping  their  tails  up  and  enjoying 
themselves.  Well,  that  was  the  kind  of  people  I  had  to 
deal  with.' 

'Alone?'  said  Cleever.  Solitude  of  the  soul  he  could 
understand — none  better — but  he  had  never  in  the  body 
moved  ten  miles  from  his  fellows. 

*  I  had  my  men,  but  the  rest  of  it  was  pretty  much 
alone.  The  nearest  post  that  could  give  me  orders  was 
fifteen  miles  away,  and  we  used  to  heliograph  to  them, 
and  they  used  to  give  us  orders  same  way — too  many 
orders.* 

*  Who  was  your  CO.?'  said  Boileau. 

* Bounderby — Major.   Pukka Bounderby ; more Boun- 

29 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

der  than  pukka.  He  went  out  up  Bhamo  way.  Shot, 
or  cut  down,  last  year,'  said  The  Infant. 

'What  are  these  interludes  in  a  strange  tongue?'  said 
Cleever  to  me. 

'Professional  information — like  the  Mississippi  pilots' 
talk,'  said  I.  'He  did  not  approve  of  his  major,  who 
died  a  violent  death.     Go  on,  Infant.' 

'Far  too  many  orders.  You  couldn't  take  the  Tom- 
mies out  for  a  two  days'  daur — that's  expedition — with- 
out being  blown  up  for  not  asking  leave.  And  the  whole 
country  was  humming  with  dacoits.  I  used  to  send  out 
spies,  and  act  on  their  information.  As  soon  as  a  man 
came  in  and  told  me  of  a  gang  in  hiding,  I'd  take  thirty 
men  with  some  grub,  and  go  out  and  look  for  them, 
while  the  other  subaltern  lay  doggo  in  camp.' 

'Lay!     Pardon  me,  but  how  did  he  lie?'  said  Cleever. 

'Lay  doggo — lay  quiet,  with  the  other  thirty  men. 
When  I  came  back,  he'd  take  out  his  half  of  the  men, 
and  have  a  good  time  of  his  own.' 

'Who  was  he?'  said  Boileau. 

'  Carter-Deecey,  of  the  Aurungabadis.  Good  chap, 
but  too  zubberdusty,  and  went  bokhar  four  days  out  of 
seven.     He's  gone  out,  too.     Don't  interrupt  a  man.' 

Cleever  looked  helplessly  at  me. 

'The  other  subaltern,'  I  translated  swiftly,  'came 
from  a  native  regiment,  and  was  overbearing  in  his  de- 
meanour. He  sufTered  much  from  the  fever  of  the  coun- 
try, and  is  now  dead.     Go  on.  Infant.' 

'After  a  bit  we  got  into  trouble  for  using  the  men  on 
frivolous  occasions,  and  so  I  used  to  put  my  signaller 
under  arrest  to  prevent  him  reading  the  helio-orders. 
Then  I'd  go  out  and  leave  a  message  to  be  sent  an  hour 
after  I  got  clear  of  the  camp,  something  like  this:  "Re- 

30 


A  CONFERENCE  OF  THE  POWERS 

ceived  important  information;  start  in  an  hour  unless 
countermanded."  If  I  was  ordered  back,  it  didn't 
much  matter.  I  swore  the  C.O.'s  watch  was  wrong,  or 
something,  when  I  came  back.  The  Tommies  enjoyed 
the  fun,  and — Oh,  yes,  there  was  one  Tommy  who  was 
the  bard  of  the  detachment.  He  used  to  make  up  verses 
on  everything  that  happened.' 

'  What  sort  of  verses?'  said  Cleever. 

'Lovely  verses;  and  the  Tommies  used  to  sing  'em. 
There  was  one  song  with  a  chorus,  and  it  said  something 
like  this.'  The  Infant  dropped  into  the  true  barrack- 
room  twang: 

'Theebaw,  the  Burma  king,  did  a  very  foolish  thing, 
W^hen  'e  mustered  'ostile  forces  in  ar-rai, 

'E  little  thought  that  we,  from  far  across  the  sea, 
W' ould  send  our  armies  up  to  Mandalai ! ' 

'  0  gorgeous ! '  said  Cleever.  '  And  how  magnificently 
direct !  The  notion  of  a  regimental  bard  is  new  to  me, 
but  of  course  it  must  be  so.' 

*He  was  awf'ly  popular  with  the  men,'  said  The  In- 
fant. *He  had  them  all  down  in  rhyme  as  soon  as  ever 
they  had  done  anything.  He  was  a  great  bard.  He 
was  always  ready  with  an  elegy  when  we  picked  up  a 
Boh — that's  a  leader  of  dacoits.' 

'How  did  you  pick  him  up?'  said  Cleever. 

'  Oh !  shot  him  if  he  wouldn't  surrender.' 

'  You !     Have  you  shot  a  man? ' 

There  was  a  subdued  chuckle  from  all  three  boys,  and 
it  dawned  on  the  questioner  that  one  experience  in  life 
which  was  denied  to  himself,  and  he  weighed  the  souls 
of  men  in  a  balance,  had  been  shared  by  three  very  young 

31 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

gentlemen  of  engaging  appearance.  He  turned  round 
on  Nevin,  who  had  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  bookcase, 
and  was  sitting  cross-legged  as  before. 

'And  have  you,  too?' 

' Think  so,'  said  Nevin  sweetly.  '  In  the  Black  Moun- 
tain. He  was  rolling  cliffs  on  to  my  half-company,  and 
spoiling  our  formation.  I  took  a  rifle  from  a  man,  and 
brought  him  down  at  the  second  shot.' 

'Good  heavens!     And  how  did  you  feel  afterwards?' 

' Thirsty.    •  I  wanted  a  smoke,  too.' 

Cleever  looked  at  Boileau — the  youngest.  Surely  his 
hands  were  guiltless  of  blood. 

Boileau  shook  his  head  and  laughed.  'Go  on.  Infant,' 
said  he. 

'And  you  too?'  said  Cleever. 

'  'Fancy  so.  It  was  a  case  of  cut,  cut  or  be  cut,  with 
me;  so  I  cut — One.     I  couldn't  do  any  more,  sir.' 

Cleever  looked  as  though  he  would  like  to  ask  many 
questions,  but  The  Infant  swept  on,  in  the  full  tide  of  his 
tale. 

'  Well,  we  were  called  insubordinate  young  whelps  at 
last,  and  strictly  forbidden  to  take  the  Tommies  out  any 
more  without  orders.  I  wasn't  sorry,  because  Tommy 
is  such  an  exacting  sort  of  creature.  He  wants  to  live 
as  though  he  were  in  barracks  all  the  time.  I  was  grub- 
bing on  fowls  and  boiled  corn,  but  my  Tommies  wanted 
their  pound  of  fresh  meat,  and  their  half  ounce  of  this, 
and  their  two  ounces  of  t'other  thing,  and  they  used  to 
come  to  me  and  badger  me  for  plug-tobacco  when  we 
were  four  days  in  jungle.  I  said :  "  I  can  get  you  Burma 
tobacco,  but  I  don't  keep  a  canteen  up  my  sleeve." 
They  couldn't  see  it.  They  wanted  all  the  luxuries  of 
the  season,  confound  'em.' 

32 


A  CONFERENCE  OF  THE  POWERS 

*You  were  alone  when  you  were  dealing  with  these 
men?'  said  Cleever,  watching  The  Infant's  face  under 
the  palm  of  his  hand.  He  was  getting  new  ideas,  and 
they  seemed  to  trouble  him. 

*  Of  course,  unless  you  count  the  mosquitoes.  They 
were  nearly  as  big  as  the  men.  After  I  had  to  lie  doggo 
I  began  to  look  for  something  to  do;  and  I  was  great  pals 
with  a  man  called  Hicksey  in  the  Police,  the  best  man 
that  ever  stepped  on  earth — a  first-class  man.' 

Cleever  nodded  applause.  He  knew  how  to  appreciate 
enthusiasm. 

*  Hicksey  and  I  were  as  thick  as  thieves.  He  had  some 
Burma  mounted  police — rummy  chaps,  armed  with 
sword  and  Snider  carbine.  They  rode  punchy  Burma 
ponies  with  string  stirrups,  red  cloth  saddles,  and  red 
bell-rope  head-stalls.  Hicksey  used  to  lend  me  six  or 
eight  of  them  when  I  asked  him — nippy  little  devils, 
keen  as  mustard.  But  they  told  their  wives  too  much, 
and  all  my  plans  got  known,  till  I  learned  to  give  false 
marching  orders  overnight,  and  take  the  men  to  quite 
a  different  village  in  the  morning.  Then  we  used  to 
catch  the  simple  daku  before  breakfast,  and  made  him 
very  sick.  It's  a  ghastly  country  on  the  Hlinedatalone ; 
all  bamboo  jungle,  with  paths  about  four  feet  wide  wind- 
ing through  it.  The  dakus  knew  all  the  paths,  and 
potted  at  us  as  we  came  round  a  corner;  but  the  mounted 
police  knew  the  paths  as  well  as  the  dakus,  and  we  used 
to  go  stalking  'em  in  and  out.  Once  we  flushed  'em, 
the  men  on  the  ponies  had  the  advantage  of  the  men  on 
foot.  We  held  all  the  country  absolutely  quiet,  for  ten 
miles  round,  in  about  a  month.  Then  we  took  Boh  Na- 
ghee,  Hicksey  and  I  and  the  Civil  officer.  That  was  a 
lark!' 

33 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

'I  think  I  am  beginning  to  understand  a  little,*  said 
Cleever.  *  It  was  a  pleasure  to  you  to  administer  and 
fight?' 

'Rather!  There's  nothing  nicer  than  a  satisfactory 
little  expedition,  when  you  find  your  plans  fit  together, 
and  your  conformation's  teek — correct,  you  know,  and 
the  whole  subchiz — I  mean,  when  everything  works  out 
like  formulae  on  a  blackboard.  Hicksey  had  all  the  in- 
formation about  the  Boh.  He  had  been  burning  villages 
and  murdering  people  right  and  left,  and  cutting  up 
Government  convoys  and  all  that.  He  was  lying  doggo 
in  a  village  about  fifteen  miles  off,  waiting  to  get  a  fresh 
gang  together.  So  we  arranged  to  take  thirty  mounted 
police,  and  turn  him  out  before  he  could  plunder  into 
our  newly-settled  villages.  At  the  last  minute,  the  Civil 
officer  in  our  part  of  the  world  thought  he'd  assist  at  the 
performance.' 

'Who  was  he?'  said  Nevin. 

'  His  name  was  Dennis,'  said  The  Infant  slowly.  '  And 
we'll  let  it  stay  so.  He's  a  better  man  now  than  he  was 
then.' 

'But  how  old  was  the  Civil  power?'  said  Cleever. 
'The  situation  is  developing  itself.' 

'He  was  about  six-and-twenty,  and  he  was  awf'ly 
clever.  He  knew  a  lot  of  things,  but  I  don't  think  he 
was  quite  steady  enough  for  dacoit-hunting.  We  started 
overnight  for  Boh  Na-ghee's  village,  and  we  got  there 
just  before  morning,  without  raising  an  alarm.  Dennis 
had  turned  out  armed  to  his  teeth — two  revolvers,  a  car- 
bine, and  all  sorts  of  things.  I  was  talking  to  Hicksey 
about  posting  the  men,  and  Dennis  edged  his  pony  in 
between  us,  and  said,  "What  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I 
do?    Tell  me  what  to  do,  you  fellows."     We  didn't  take 

34 


A  CONFERENCE  OF  THE  POWERS 

much  notice;  but  his  pony  tried  to  bite  me  in  the  leg, 
and  I  said,  "Pull  out  a  bit,  old  man,  till  we've  settled 
the  attack."  He  kept  edging  in,  and  fiddling  with  his 
reins  and  his  revolvers,  and  saying,  "Dear  me!  Dear 
me!  Oh,  dear  me!  What  do  you  think  I'd  better  do?" 
The  man  was  in  a  deadly  funk,  and  his  teeth  were  chat- 
tering.' 

'I  sympathise  with  the  Civil  power,'  said  Cleever. 
'Continue,  young  Clive.' 

'The  fun  of  it  was,  that  he  was  supposed  to  be  our  su- 
perior officer.  Hicksey  took  a  good  look  at  him,  and 
told  him  to  attach  himself  to  my  party.  'Beastly  mean 
of  Hicksey,  that.  The  chap  kept  on  edging  in  and 
bothering,  instead  of  asking  for  some  men  and  taking  up 
his  own  position,  till  I  got  angry,  and  the  carbines  began 
popping  on  the  other  side  of  the  village.  Then  I  said, 
"For  God's  sake  be  quiet,  and  sit  down  where  you  are! 
If  you  see  anybody  come  out  of  the  village,  shoot  at 
him."  I  knew  he  couldn't  hit  a  hayrick  at  a  yard.  Then 
I  took  my  men  over  the  garden  wall — over  the  palisades, 
y'  know — somehow  or  other,  and  the  fun  began.  Hicksey 
had  found  the  Boh  in  bed  under  a  mosquito-curtain, 
and  he  had  taken  a  flying  jump  on  to  him.' 

*  A  flying  jump ! '  said  Cleever.     '  Is  that  also  war?' 

*Yes,'  said  The  Infant,  now  thoroughly  warmed. 
'Don't  you  know  how  you  take  a  flying  jump  on  to  a 
fellow's  head  at  school,  when  he  snores  in  the  dormitory? 
The  Boh  was  sleeping  in  a  bedful  of  swords  and  pistols, 
and  Hicksey  came  down  like  Zazel  through  the  netting, 
and  the  net  got  mixed  up  with  the  pistols  and  the  Boh 
and  Hicksey,  and  they  all  rolled  on  the  floor  together. 
I  laughed  till  I  couldn't  stand,  and  Hicksey  was  cursing 
me  for  not  helping  him;  so  I  left  him  to  fight  it  out  and 

35 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

went  into  the  village.  Our  men  were  slashing  about  and 
firing,  and  so  were  the  dacoits,  and  in  the  thick  of  the 
mess  some  ass  set  fire  to  a  house,  and  we  all  had  to  clear 
out.  I  froze  on  to  the  nearest  daku  and  ran  to  the  pali- 
sade, shoving  him  in  front  of  me.  He  wriggled  loose, 
and  bounded  over  the  other  side.  I  came  after  him; 
but  when  I  had  one  leg  one  side  and  one  leg  the  other  of 
the  palisade,  I  saw  that  the  daku  had  fallen  flat  on  Den- 
nis's head.  That  man  had  never  moved  from  where  I 
left  him.  They  rolled  on  the  ground  together,  and 
Dennis's  carbine  went  off  and  nearly  shot  me.  The  daku 
picked  himself  up  and  ran,  and  Dennis  buzzed  his 
carbine  after  him,  and  it  caught  him  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  and  knocked  him  silly.  You  never  saw  anything 
so  funny  in  your  life.  I  doubled  up  on  the  top  of  the 
palisade  and  hung  there,  yelling  with  laughter.  But 
Dennis  began  to  weep  like  anything.  "  Oh,  I've  killed  a 
man,"  he  said.  "I've  killed  a  man,  and  I  shall  never 
know  another  peaceful  hour  in  my  life !  Is  he  dead? 
Oh,  is  he  dead?  Good  Lord,  I've  killed  a  man!"  I 
came  down  and  said,  "Don't  be  a  fool";  but  he  kept  on 
shouting,  "Is  he  dead?"  till  I  could  have  kicked  him. 
The  daku  was  only  knocked  out  of  time  with  the  carbine. 
He  came  to  after  a  bit,  and  I  said,  "Are  you  hurt  much?" 
He  groaned  and  said  "No."  His  chest  was  all  cut  with 
scrambling  over  the  palisade.  "The  white  man's  gun 
didn't  do  that,"  he  said,  "I  did  that,  and  I  knocked  the 
white  man  over."  Just  like  a  Burman,  wasn't  it?  But 
Dennis  wouldn't  be  happy  at  any  price.  He  said :  "Tie 
up  his  wounds.  He'll  bleed  to  death.  Oh,  he'll  bleed 
to  death!"  "Tie  'em  up  yourself,"  I  said,  "if  you're  so 
anxious."  "I  can't  touch  him,"  said  Dennis,  "but 
here's  my  shirt."     He  took  off  his  shirt,  and  fixed  the 

36 


A  CONFERENCE  OF  THE  POWERS 

braces  again  over  his  bare  shoulders.  I  ripped  the  shirt 
up,  and  bandaged  the  dacoit  quite  professionally.  He 
was  grinning  at  Dennis  all  the  time;  and  Dennis's  haver- 
sack was  lying  on  the  ground,  bursting  full  of  sandwiches. 
Greedy  hog!  I  took  some,  and  offered  some  to  Dennis. 
"How  can  I  eat?"  he  said.  "How  can  you  ask  me  to 
eat?  His  very  blood  is  on  your  hands  now,  and  you're 
eating  my  sandwiches!"  "All  right,"  I  said;  "I'll  give 
'em  to  the  daku."  So  I  did,  and  the  little  chap  was 
quite  pleased,  and  wolfed  'em  down  like  one  o'clock.' 

Cleever  brought  his  hand  down  on  the  table  with  a 
thump  that  made  the  empty  glasses  dance.  'That's 
Art!'  he  said.  'Flat,  flagrant  mechanism!  Don't  tell 
me  that  happened  on  the  spot ! ' 

The  pupils  of  The  Infant's  eyes  contracted  to  two 
pin-points.  'I  beg  your  pardon,'  he  said,  slowly  and 
stiffly,  *but  I  am  telling  this  thing  as  it  happened.' 

Cleever  looked  at  him  a  moment.  '  My  fault  entirely, ' 
said  he ;  *  I  should  have  known.     Please  go  on.' 

*Hicksey  came  out  of  what  was  left  of  the  village  with 
his  prisoners  and  captives,  all  neatly  tied  up.  Boh  Na- 
ghee  was  first,  and  one  of  the  villagers,  as  soon  as  he 
found  the  old  ruffian  helpless,  began  kicking  him  quietly. 
The  Boh  stood  it  as  long  as  he  could,  and  then  groaned, 
and  we  saw  what  was  going  on.  Hicksey  tied  the  vil- 
lager up,  and  gave  him  a  half-a-dozen,  good,  with  a  bam- 
boo, to  remind  him  to  leave  a  prisoner  alone.  You 
should  have  seen  the  old  Boh  grin.  Oh!  but  Hicksey 
was  in  a  furious  rage  with  everybody.  He'd  got  a  wipe 
over  the  elbow  that  had  tickled  up  his  funny-bone,  and 
he  was  rabid  with  me  for  not  having  helped  him  with 
the  Boh  and  the  mosquito-net.  I  had  to  explain  that  I 
couldn't  do  anything.     If  you'd  seen  'em  both  tangled 

37 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

up  together  on  the  floor  in  one  kicking  cocoon,  you'd 
have  laughed  for  a  week.  Hicksey  swore  that  the  only 
decent  man  of  his  acquaintance  was  the  Boh,  and  all  the 
way  to  camp  Hicksey  was  talking  to  the  Boh,  and  the 
Boh  was  complaining  about  the  soreness  of  his  bones. 
When  we  got  back,  and  had  had  a  bath,  the  Boh  wanted 
to  know  when  he  was  going  to  be  hanged.  Hicksey  said 
he  couldn't  oblige  him  on  the  spot,  but  had  to  send  him 
to  Rangoon.  The  Boh  went  down  on  his  knees,  and 
reeled  off  a  catalogue  of  his  crimes — he  ought  to  have 
been  hanged  seventeen  times  over,  by  his  own  confession 
— and  implored  Hicksey  to  settle  the  business  out  of 
hand.  "If  I'm  sent  to  Rangoon,"  said  he,  "they'll 
keep  me  in  jail  all  my  life,  and  that  is  a  death  every  time 
the  sun  gets  up  or  the  wind  blows."  But  we  had  to 
send  him  to  Rangoon,  and,  of  course,  he  was  let  ofT  down 
there,  and  given  penal  servitude  for  life.  When  I  came 
to  Rangoon  I  went  over  the  jail — I  had  helped  to  fill  it, 
y'  know — and  the  old  Boh  was  there,  and  he  spotted  me 
at  once.  He  begged  for  some  opium  first,  and  I  tried  to 
get  him  some,  but  that  was  against  the  rules.  Then  he 
asked  me  to  have  his  sentence  changed  to  death,  because 
he  was  afraid  of  being  sent  to  the  Andamans.  I  couldn't 
do  that  either,  but  I  tried  to  cheer  him,  and  told  him  how 
things  were  going  up-country,  and  the  last  thing  he 
said  was — "Give  my  compliments  to  the  fat  white  man 
who  jumped  on  me.  If  I'd  been  awake  I'd  have  killed 
him."  I  wrote  that  to  Hicksey  next  mail,  and — and 
that's  all.     I'm  'fraid  I've  been  gassing  awf'ly,  sir.' 

Cleever  said  nothing  for  a  long  time.  The  Infant 
looked  uncomfortable.  He  feared  that,  misled  by  en- 
thusiasm, he  had  filled  up  the  novelist's  time  with  un- 
profitable recital  of  trivial  anecdotes. 

38 


A  CONFERENCE  OF  THE  POWERS 

Then  said  Cleever, '  I  can't  understand.  Why  should 
you  have  seen  and  done  all  these  things  before  you  have 
cut  your  wisdom-teeth? ' 

'Don't  know,'  said  The  Infant  apologetically.  'I 
haven't  seen  much — only  Burmese  jungle.' 

'And  dead  men,  and  war,  and  power,  and  responsi- 
bility,' said  Cleever,  under  his  breath.  'You  won't 
have  any  sensations  left  at  thirty,  if  you  go  on  as  you 
have  done.  But  I  want  to  hear  more  tales — more  tales !' 
He  seemed  to  forget  that  even  subalterns  might  have 
engagements  of  their  own. 

'We're  thinking  of  dining  out  somewhere — the  lot  of 
us — and  going  on  to  the  Empire  afterwards,'  said  Nevin, 
with  hesitation.  He  did  not  like  to  ask  Cleever  to  come 
too.  The  invitation  might  be  regarded  as  perilously 
near  to  'cheek.'  And  Cleever,  anxious  not  to  wag  a 
gray  beard  unbidden  among  boys  at  large,  said  nothing 
on  his  side. 

Boileau  solved  the  little  difficulty  by  blurting  out: 
'Won't  you  come  too,  sir?' 

Cleever  almost  shouted  'Yes,'  and  while  he  was  being 
helped  into  his  coat,continued  to  murmur  'Good  heavens !' 
at  intervals  in  a  way  that  the  boys  could  not  understand. 

'I  don't  think  I've  been  to  the  Empire  in  my  life,' 
said  he ; '  but — what  is  my  life  after  all?     Let  us  go.' 

They  went  out  with  Eustace  Cleever,  and  I  sulked  at 
home  because  they  had  come  to  see  me  but  had  gone 
over  to  the  better  man;  which  was  humiliating.  They 
packed  him  into  a  cab  with  utmost  reverence,  for  was  he 
not  the  author  of  'As  it  was  in  the  Beginning,'  and  a 
person  in  whose  company  it  was  an  honour  to  go  abroad? 
From  all  I  gathered  later,  he  had  taken  less  interest  in 
the  performance  before  him  than  in  their  conversations, 

3d 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

and  they  protested  with  emphasis  that  he  was  *as  good 
a  man  as  they  make.  'Knew  what  a  man  was  driving 
at  almost  before  he  said  it;  and  yet  he's  so  damned  sim- 
ple about  things  that  any  man  knows.'  That  was  one 
of  many  comments. 

At  midnight  they  returned,  announcing  that  they 
were  'highly  respectable  gondoliers,'  and  that  oysters 
and  stout  were  what  they  chiefly  needed.  The  eminent 
novelist  was  still  with  them,  and  I  think  he  was  calling 
them  by  their  shorter  names.  I  am  certain  that  he  said 
he  had  been  moving  in  worlds  not  realised,  and  that 
they  had  shown  him  the  Empire  in  a  new  light. 

Still  sore  at  recent  neglect,  I  answered  shortly,  'Thank 
heaven  we  have  within  the  land  ten  thousand  as  good  as 
they,'  and  when  he  departed,  asked  him  what  he  thought 
of  things  generally. 

He  replied  with  another  quotation,  to  the  effect  that 
though  singing  was  a  remarkably  fine  performance,  I 
was  to  be  quite  sure  that  few  lips  would  be  moved  to 
song  if  they  could  find  a  sufficiency  of  kissing. 

Whereby  I  understood  that  Eustace  Cleever,  decorator 
and  colourman  in  words,  was  blaspheming  his  own  Art, 
and  would  be  sorry  for  this  in  the  morning. 


40 


MY  LORD  THE  ELEPHANT 

(1892) 

'Less  you  want  your  toes  trod  off  you'd  better  get  back 
at  once, 
For  the  bullocks  are  walkin'  two  by  two, 
The  byles  are  walkin'  two  by  two. 
The  bullocks  are  walkin'  two  by  two, 
An'  the  elephants  bring  the  guns! 

HoIYuss! 
Great — big — long — black  forty-pounder  guns: 
Jiggery-jolty  to  and  fro. 
Each  as  big  as  a  launch  in  tow — 
Blind — dumb — broad-breeched   beggars  o'   batterin' 
guns! 

'Barrack-Room  Ballad.' 

TOUCHING  the  truth  of  this  tale  there  need  be 
no  doubt  at  all,  for  it  was  told  to  me  by  Mul- 
vaney  at  the  back  of  the  elephant-lines,  one 
warm  evening  when  we  were  taking  the  dogs  out  for 
exercise.  The  twelve  Government  elephants  rocked  at 
their  pickets  outside  the  big  mud-walled  stables  (one 
arch,  as  wide  as  a  bridge-arch,  to  each  restless  beast), 
and  the  mahouts  were  preparing  the  evening  meal.  Now 
and  again  some  impatient  youngster  would  smell  the 
cooking  flour-cakes  and  squeal;  and  the  naked  little 

41 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

children  of  the  elephant-lines  would  strut  down  the  row 
shouting  and  commanding  silence,  or,  reaching  up,  would 
slap  at  the  eager  trunks.  Then  the  elephants  feigned  to 
be  deeply  interested  in  pouring  dust  upon  their  heads, 
but,  so  soon  as  the  children  passed,  the  rocking,  fidget- 
ing, and  muttering  broke  out  again. 

The  sunset  was  dying,  and  the  elephants  heaved  and 
swayed  dead  black  against  the  one  sheet  of  rose-red  low 
down  in  the  dusty  gray  sky.  It  was  at  the  beginning 
of  the  hot  weather,  just  after  the  troops  had  changed 
into  their  white  clothes,  so  Mulvaney  and  Ortheris  looked 
like  ghosts  walking  through  the  dusk.  Learoyd  had 
gone  off  to  another  barrack  to  buy  sulphur  ointment  for 
his  last  dog  under  suspicion  of  mange,  and  with  delicacy 
had  put  his  kennel  into  quarantine  at  the  back  of  the 
furnace  where  they  cremate  the  anthrax  cases. 

*You  wouldn't  like  mange,  little  woman?'  said  Or- 
theris, turning  my  terrier  over  on  her  fat  white  back 
with  his  foot.  'You're  no  end  bloomin'  partic'lar,  you 
are.  'Oo  wouldn't  take  no  notice  o'  me  t'other  day 
'cause  she  was  goin'  'ome  all  alone  in  'er  dorg-cart,  eh? 
Settin'  on  the  box-seat  like  a  bloomin'  little  tart,  you 
was,  Viccy.  Now  you  run  along  an'  make  them  'uttees 
'oiler.     Sick  'em,  Viccy,  loo!' 

Elephants  loathe  little  dogs.  Vixen  barked  herself 
down  the  pickets,  and  in  a  minute  all  the  elephants  were 
kicking  and  squealing  and  clucking  together. 

'Oh,  you  soldier-men,'  said  a  mahout  angrily,  'call 
off  your  she-dog.     She  is  frightening  our  elephant-folk.' 

*  Rummy  beggars ! '  said  Ortheris  meditatively.  '  'Call 
'em  people,  same  as  if  they  was.  An'  they  are  too. 
Not  so  bloomin'  rummy  when  you  come  to  think  of  it, 
neither.' 

42 


MY  LORD  THE  ELEPHANT 

Vixen  returned  yapping  to  show  that  she  could  do  it 
again  if  she  liked,  and  established  herself  between  Or- 
theris's  knees,  smiling  a  large  smile  at  his  lawful  dogs 
who  dared  not  fly  at  her. 

"Seed  the  battery  this  mornin'?'  said  Ortheris. 
He  meant  the  newly-arrived  elephant-battery;  other- 
wise he  would  have  said  simply  ' guns.'  Three  elephants 
harnessed  tandem  go  to  each  gun,  and  those  who  have 
not  seen  the  big  forty-pounders  of  position  trundling 
along  in  the  wake  of  their  gigantic  team  have  yet  some- 
thing to  behold.  The  lead-elephant  had  behaved  very 
badly  on  parade;  had  been  cut  loose,  sent  back  to  the 
lines  in  disgrace,  and  was  at  that  hour  squealing  and 
lashing  out  with  his  trunk  at  the  end  of  the  line;  a  pic- 
ture of  blind,  bound  bad  temper.  His  mahout,  stand- 
ing clear  of  the  flail-like  blows,  was  trying  to  soothe  him. 

'That's  the  beggar  that  cut  up  on  p'rade.  'E's  must,' 
said  Ortheris  pointing.  'There'll  be  murder  in  the  lines 
soon,  and  then,  per'aps,  'e'll  get  loose  an'  we'll  'ave  to 
be  turned  out  to  shoot  'im,  same  as  when  one  o'  they 
native  king's  elephants  musted  last  June.     'Ope  'e  will.' 

'Must  be  sugared!'  said  Mulvaney  contemptuously 
from  his  resting-place  on  the  pile  of  dried  bedding.  *  He's 
no  more  than  in  a  powerful  bad  timper  wid  bein'  put 
upon.  I'd  lay  my  kit  he's  new  to  the  gun-team,  an'  by 
natur'  he  hates  haulin'.     Ask  the  mahout,  sorr.' 

I  hailed  the  old  white-bearded  mahout  who  was  lavish- 
ing pet  words  on  his  sulky  red-eyed  charge. 

'He  is  not  musth,'  the  man  replied  indignantly;  'only 
his  honour  has  been  touched.  Is  an  elephant  an  ox  or 
a  mule  that  he  should  tug  at  a  trace?  His  strength  is  in 
his  head — Peace,  peace,  my  Lord !  It  was  not  my  fault 
that  they  yoked  thee  this  morning! — Only  a  low-caste 

43 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

elephant  will  pull  a  gun,  and  he  is  a  Kumeria  of  the  Doon. 
It  cost  a  year  and  the  life  of  a  man  to  break  him  to  bur- 
den. They  of  the  Artillery  put  him  in  the  gun-team 
because  one  of  their  base-born  brutes  had  gone  lame. 
No  wonder  that  he  was,  and  is  wrath.' 

'Rummy!  Most  unusual  rum,' said  Ortheris.  'Gawd, 
'e  is  in  a  temper,  though !     S'pose  'e  got  loose ! ' 

Mulvaney  began  to  speak,  but  checked  himself,  and  I 
asked  the  mahout  what  would  happen  if  the  heel-chains 
broke. 

'God  knows,  who  made  elephants,'  he  said  simply. 
'  In  his  now  state  peradventure  he  might  kill  you  three, 
or  run  at  large  till  his  rage  abated.  He  would  not  kill 
me  except  he  were  musth.  Then  would  he  kill  me  be- 
fore any  one  in  the  world,  because  he  loves  me.  Such 
is  the  custom  of  the  elephant-folk;  and  the  custom  of  us 
mahout-people  matches  it  for  foolishness.  We  trust 
each  our  own  elephant,  till  our  own  elephant  kills  us. 
Other  castes  trust  women,  but  we  the  elephant-folk.  I 
have  seen  men  deal  with  enraged  elephants  and  live;  but 
never  was  man  yet  born  of  woman  that  met  my  lord  the 
elephant  in  his  musth  and  lived  to  tell  of  the  taming. 
They  are  enough  bold  who  meet  him  angry.' 

I  translated.  Then  said  Terence:  'Ask  the  heathen 
if  he  iver  saw  a  man  tame  an  elephint, — anyways — a 
white  man.' 

'Once,'  said  the  mahout,  'I  saw  a  man  astride  of  such 
a  beast  in  the  town  of  Cawnpore;  a  bareheaded  man,  a 
white  man,  beating  it  upon  the  head  with  a  gun.  It  was 
said  he  was  possessed  of  devils  or  drunk.' 

*Is  ut  like,  think  you,  he'd  be  doin'  it  sober?'  said 
Mulvaney  after  interpretation,  and  the  chained  elephant 
roared. 

44 


MY  LORD  THE  ELEPHANT 

'There's  only  one  man  top  of  earth  that  would  be  the 
partic'lar  kind  o'  sorter  bloomin'  fool  to  do  itl'  said  Or- 
theris.     '  When  was  that,  Mulvaney? ' 

'As  the  naygur  sez,  in  Cawnpore;  an'  I  was  that  fool 
— in  the  days  av  my  youth.  But  it  came  about  as  nat- 
uril  as  wan  thing  leads  to  another, — me  an'  the  elephint, 
and  the  elephint  and  me;  an'  the  fight  betune  us  was  the 
most  naturil  av  all.' 

'That's  just  wot  it  would  ha'  been,'  said  Ortheris. 
'Only  you  must  ha'  been  more  than  usual  full.  You 
done  one  queer  trick  with  an  elephant  that  I  know  of, 
why  didn't  you  never  tell  us  the  other  one?' 

'Bekase,  onless  you  had  heard  the  naygur  here  say 
what  he  has  said  spontaneous,  you'd  ha'  called  me  for  a 
liar,  Stanley,  my  son,  an'  it  would  ha'  bin  my  duty  an' 
my  delight  to  give  you  the  father  an'  mother  avabeltin'. 
There's  only  wan  fault  about  you,  little  man,  an'  that's 
thinking  you  know  all  there  is  in  the  world,  an'  a  little 
more.  'Tis  a  fault  that  has  made  away  wid  a  few  orf - 
cers  I've  served  undher,  not  to  spake  av  ivry  man  but 
two  that  I  iver  thried  to  make  into  a  privit.' 

*Ho!'  said  Ortheris  with  ruffled  plumes,  'an'  'oo  was 
your  two  bloomin'  little  Sir  Garnets,  eh?' 

'Wan  was  mesilf,'  said  Mulvaney  with  a  grin  that 
darkness  could  not  hide;  'an' — seein'  that  he's  not  here 
there's  no  harm  speakin'  av'  him — t'other  was  Jock.' 

'Jock's  no  more  than  a  'ayrick  in  trousies.  'E  be- 
'aves  like  one ;  an'  'e  can't  'it  one  at  a  'undred ;  'e  was  born 
on  one,  an'  s'welp  me  'e'll  die  under  one  for  not  bein' 
able  to  say  wot  'e  wants  in  a  Christian  lingo,'  said  Or- 
theris, jumping  up  from  the  piled  fodder  only  to  be 
swept  off  his  legs.  Vixen  leaped  upon  his  stomach,  and 
the  other  dogs  followed  and  sat  down  there. 

45 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

'I  know  what  Jock  is  like,'  I  said.  'I  want  to  hear 
about  the  elephant,  though.' 

*It's  another  o'  Mulvaney's  bloomin'  panoramas,' 
said  Ortheris,  gasping  under  the  dogs.  '  'Im  an'  Jock 
for  the  'ole  bloomin'  British  Army!  You'll  be  sayin' 
you  won  Waterloo  next, — you  an'  Jock.     Garn ! ' 

Neither  of  us  thought  it  worth  while  to  notice  Ortheris. 
The  big  gun-elephant  threshed  and  muttered  in  his 
chains,  giving  tongue  now  and  again  in  crashing  trumpet- 
peals,  and  to  this  accompaniment  Terence  went  on:  'In 
the  beginnin','  said  he,  'me  bein'  what  I  was,  there  was 
a  misunderstandin'  wid  my  sergeant  that  was  then.  He 
put  his  spite  on  me  for  various  reasons, — ' 

The  deep-set  eyes  twinkled  above  the  glow  of  the  pipe- 
bowl,  and  Ortheris  grunted,  'Another  petticoat!' 

— 'For  various  an'  promiscuous  reasons;  an'  the  up- 
shot av  it  was  that  he  come  into  barricks  wan  afternoon 
whin'  I  was  settlin'  my  cow-lick  before  goin'  walkin', 
called  me  a  big  baboon  (which  I  was  not),  an'  a  demoral- 
isin'  beggar  (which  I  was),  an'  bid  me  go  on  fatigue  thin 
an'  there,  helpin'  shift  E.  P.  tents,  fourteen  av  thim  from 
the  rest-camps.     At  that,  me  bein'  set  on  my  walk — ' 

*Ah!'  from  under  the  dogs,  "e's  a  Mormon,  Viccy. 
Don't  you  'ave  nothin'  to  do  with  'im,  little  dorg.' 

— '  Set  on  my  walk,  I  tould  him  a  few  things  that  came 
up  in  my  mind,  an'  wan  thing  led  on  to  another,  an'  be- 
tune  talkin'  I  made  time  for  to  hit  the  nose  av  him  so 
that  he'd  be  no  Venus  to  any  woman  for  a  week  to  come. 
'Twas  a  fine  big  nose,  and  well  it  paid  for  a  little  groom- 
in'.  Afther  that  I  was  so  well  pleased  wid  my  handi- 
craftfulness  that  I  niver  raised  fist  on  the  gyard  that 
came  to  take  me  to  Clink.  A  child  might  ha'  led  me 
along,  for  I  knew  old  Kearney's  nose  was  ruined.    That 

415 


MY  LORD  THE  ELEPHANT 

summer  the  Ould  Rig'ment  did  not  use  their  own  Clink, 
bekase  the  cholera  was  hangin'  about  there  like  mildew 
on  wet  boots,  an'  'twas  murdher  to  confine  in  ut.  We 
borrowed  the  Clink  that  belonged  to  the  Holy  Christians 
(the  rig'ment  that  has  never  seen  service  yet),  and  that 
lay  a  matther  av  a  mile  away,  acrost  two  p'rade-grounds 
an'  the  main  road,  an'  all  the  ladies  av  Cawnpore  goin' 
out  for  their  afternoon  dhrive.  So  I  moved  in  the  best 
av  society,  my  shadow  dancin'  along  forninst  me,  an' 
the  gyard  as  solemn  as  putty,  the  bracelets  on  my  wrists, 
an'  my  heart  full  contint  wid  the  notion  av  Kearney's 
pro — pro — probosculum  in  a  shling. 

'  In  the  middle  av  ut  all  I  perceived  a  gunner-orf 'cer 
in  full  rig'mentals  perusin'  down  the  road,  hell-f or-leather, 
wid  his  mouth  open.  He  fetched  wan  woild  despairin" 
look  on  the  dog-kyarts  an'  the  polite  society  av  Cawn- 
pore, an'  thin  he  dived  like  a  rabbut  into  a  dhrain  by  the 
side  av  the  road. 

'  "Bhoys,"  sez  I,  "that  orf'cer's  dhrunk.  'Tisscand- 
'lus.     Let's  take  him  to  Clink  too." 

'The  corp'ril  of  the  gyard  made  a  jump  for  me,  un- 
locked my  stringers,  an'  he  sez :  "  If  it  comes  to  runnin', 
run  for  your  life.  If  it  doesn't,  I'll  trust  your  honour. 
Anyways,"  sez  he,  "come  to  Clink  whin  you  can." 

'Then  I  behild  him  runnin'  wan  way,  stuffin'  the  brace- 
lets in  his  pocket,  they  bein'  Gov'ment  property,  and 
the  gyard  runnin'  another,  an'  all  the  dog-kyarts  run- 
nin' all  ways  to  wanst,  an'  me  alone  lookin'  down  the  red 
bag  av  a  mouth  av  an  elephint  forty-two  feet  high  at  the 
shoulder,  tin  feet  wide,  wid  tusks  as  long  as  the  Ochter- 
lony  Monumint.  That  was  my  first  reconnaissance. 
Maybe  he  was  not  quite  so  contagious,  nor  quite  so  tall, 
but  I  didn't  stop  to  throw  out  pickets.     Mother  av 

47 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Hiven,  how  I  ran  down  the  road !  The  baste  began  to 
inveshtigate  the  dhrain  wid  the  gunner-orf'cer  in  ut;  an' 
that  was  the  makin'  av  me.  I  tripped  over  wan  of  the 
rifles  that  my  gyard  had  discarded  (onsoldierly  black- 
guards they  was!),  and  whin  I  got  up  I  was  facin'  t'other 
way  about  an'  the  elephint  was  huntin'  for  the  gunner- 
orf'cer.  I  can  see  his  big  fat  back  yet.  Excipt  that  he 
didn't  dig,  he  car'ied  on  for  all  the  world  like  little  Vixen 
here  at  a  rat-hole.  He  put  his  head  down  (by  my  sowl 
he  nearly  stood  on  ut !)  to  shquint  down  the  dhrain;  thin 
he'd  grunt,  and  run  round  to  the  other  ind  in  case  the 
orf'cer  was  gone  out  by  the  back  door;  an'  he'd  shtuff 
his  trunk  down  the  flue  an'  get  ut  filled  wid  mud,  an' 
blow  ut  out,  an'  grunt,  an'  swear!  My  troth,  he  swore 
all  hiven  down  upon  that  orf'cer;  an' what  a  commissariat 
elephint  had  to  do  wid  a  gunner-orf'cer  passed  me.  Me 
havin'  nowhere  to  go  except  to  Clink,  I  stud  in  the  road  wid 
the  rifle,  a  Snider  an'  no  amm'nition,  philosophisin'  upon 
the  rear  ind  av  the  animal.  All  round  me,  miles  and  miles, 
there  was  howlin'  desolation,  for  ivry  human  sowl  wid  two 
legs,  or  four  for  the  matther  av  that,  was  ambuscadin',  an' 
this  ould  rapparee  stud  on  his  head  tuggin'  and  gruntin' 
above  the  dhrain,  his  tail  stickin'  up  to  the  sky,  an'  he 
thryin'  to  thrumpet  through  three  feet  av  road-sweepin's 
up  his  thrunk.     Begad,  'twas  wickud  to  behold  I 

*  Subsequint  he  caught  sight  av  me  standin'  alone  in 
the  wide,  wide  world  lanin'  on  the  rifle.  That  dishcom- 
posed  him,  bekase  he  thought  I  was  the  gunner-orf'cer 
got  out  unbeknownst.  He  looked  betune  his  feet  at 
the  dhrain,  an'  he  looked  at  me,  an'  I  sez  to  myself: 
"Terence,  my  son,  you've  been  watchin'  this  Noah's 
arlc  too  long.  Run  for  your  life!"  Dear  knows  I 
wanted  to  tell  him  I  was  only  a  poor  privit  on  my  way  to 

48 


MY  LORD  THE  ELEPHANT 

Clink,  an'  no  orf  cer  at  all,  at  all;  but  he  put  his  ears  for- 
ward av  his  thick  head,  an'  I  rethreated  down  the  road 
grippin'  the  rifle,  my  back  as  cowld  as  a  tombstone,  and 
the  slack  av  my  trousies,  where  I  made  sure  he'd  take 
hould,  crawhn'  wid, — wid  invidjus  apprehension. 

'  I  might  ha'  run  till  I  dhropped,  bekase  I  was  betune 
the  two  straight  lines  av  the  road  an'  a  man,  or  a  thou- 
sand men  for  the  matther  av  that,  are  the  like  av  sheep 
in  keepin'  betune  right  an'  left  marks.' 

'Same  as  canaries,'  said  Ortheris  from  the  darkness. 
*  Draw  a  line  on  a  bloomin'  little  board,  put  their  bloom- 
in'  little  beakses  there ;  stay  so  for  hever  and  hever,  amen, 
they  will.  'Seed  a  'ole  reg'ment,  I  'ave,  walk  crabways 
along  the  edge  of  a  two-foot  water-cut  'stid  o'  thinkin' 
to  cross  it.     Men  is  sheep — bloomin'  sheep.     Go  on.' 

'But  I  saw  his  shadow  wid  the  tail  av  my  eye,'  con- 
tinued the  man  of  experiences,  'an'  "Wheel,"  I  sez, 
"Terence,  wheel ! "  an'  I  wheeled.  'Tis  truth  that  I  cud 
hear  the  shparks  flyin'  from  my  heels;  an'  I  shpun  into 
the  nearest  compound,  fetched  wan  jump  from  the  gate 
to  the  veranda  av  the  house,  an'  fell  over  a  tribe  of  nay- 
gurs  wid  a  half-caste  boy  at  a  desk,  all  manufacturin' 
harness.  'Twas  Antonio's  Carriage  Emporium  at  Cawn- 
pore.     You  know  ut,  sorr? 

*Ould  Grambags  must  ha'  wheeled  abreast  wid  me, 
for  his  thrunk  came  lickin'  into  the  veranda  like  a  belt  in 
a  barrick-room  row,  before  I  was  in  the  shop.  The  nay- 
gurs  an'  the  half-caste  boy  howled  an'  wint  out  at  the 
backdoor,  an'  I  stud  lone  as  Lot's  wife  among  the  har- 
ness. A  powerful  thirsty  thing  is  harness,  by  reason  av 
the  smell  to  ut. 

*  I  wint  into  the  backroom,  nobody  bein'  there  to  invite, 
an'  I  found  a  bottle  av  whisky  and  a  goglet  av  wather. 

49 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

The  first  an'  the  second  dhrink  I  never  noticed  bein' 
dhry,  but  the  fourth  an'  the  fifth  tuk  good  hould  av  me 
an'  I  began  to  think  scornful  av  elephints.  "Take  the 
upper  ground  in  manoe'vrin',  Terence,"  I  sez ; "  an'  you'll 
be  a  gen'ral  yet."  sez  I.  An'  wid  that  I  wint  up  to  the 
flat  mud  roof  av  the  house  an'  looked  over  the  edge  av 
the  parapit,  threadin'  deUcate.  Ould  Barrel-belly  was 
in  the  compound,  walkin'  to  an '  fro,  pluckin'  a  piece  av 
grass  here  an'  a  weed  there,  for  all  the  world  like  our 
colonel  that  is  now  whin  his  wife's  given  him  a  talkin' 
down  an'  he's  prom'nadin'  to  ease  his  timper.  His  back 
was  to  me,  an'  by  the  same  token  I  hiccupped.  He 
checked  in  his  walk,  wan  ear  forward  like  a  deaf  ould 
lady  wid  an  ear-thrumpet,  an'  his  thrunk  hild  out  in  a 
kind  av  fore-reaching  hook.  Thin  he  wagged  his  ear 
sayin',  "Do  my  sinses  deceive  me?"  as  plain  as  print, 
an  he  recomminst  promenadin'.  You  know  Antonio's 
compound?  'Twas  as  full  thin  as  'tis  now  av  new  kyarts 
and  ould  kyarts,  an'  second-hand  kyarts  an'  kyarts  for 
hire, — landos,  an'  b'rooshes,  an'  brooms,  an'  wag'nettes 
av  ivry  description.  Thin  I  hiccupped  again,  an'  he  be- 
gan to  study  the  ground  beneath  him,  his  tail  whistlin' 
wid  emotion.  Thin  he  lapped  his  thrunk  round  the  shaft 
av  a  wag'nette  an'  dhrew  it  out  circumspectuous  an' 
thoughtful.  "He's  not  there,"  he  sez,  fumblin'  in  the 
cushions  wid  his  thrunk.  Thin  I  hiccupped  again,  an' 
wid  that  he  lost  his  patience  good  an'  all,  same  as  this 
wan  in  the  lines  here.' 

The  gun-elephant  was  breaking  into  peal  after  peal  of 
indignant  trumpetings,  to  the  disgust  of  the  other  animals 
who  had  finished  their  food  and  wished  to  drowse.  Be- 
tween the  outcries  we  could  hear  him  picking  restlessly 
at  his  ankle  ring. 

50 


MY  LORD  THE  ELEPHANT 

'As  I  was  sayin','  Mulvaney  went  on,  'he  behaved 
dishgraceful.  He  let  out  wid  his  fore-fut  like  a  steam- 
hammer,  bein'  convinced  that  I  was  in  ambuscade  ad- 
jacent; an'  that  wag'nette  ran  back  among  the  other 
carriages  like  a  field-gun  in  charge.  Thin  he  hauled  ut 
out  again  an'  shuk  ut,  an'  by  nature  it  came  all  to  little 
pieces.  Afther  that  he  went  sheer  damn,  slam,  dancin', 
lunatic,  double-shuflle  demented  wid  the  whole  of  An- 
tonio's shtock  for  the  season.  He  kicked,  an'  he  strad- 
dled, and  he  stamped,  an'  he  pounded  all  at  wanst,  his 
big  bald  head  bobbin'  up  an'  down,  solemn  as  a  rigadoon. 
He  tuk  a  new  shiny  broom  an'  kicked  ut  on  wan  corner, 
an'  ut  opened  out  like  a  blossomin'  lily;  an'  he  shtuck 
wan  fool-foot  through  the  flure  av  ut  an'  a  wheel  was 
shpinnin'  on  his  tusk.  At  that  he  got  scared,  an'  by 
this  an'  that  he  fair  sat  down  plump  among  the  carriages, 
an'  they  pricked  'im  wid  splinters  till  he  was  a  boundin' 
pincushin.  In  the  middle  av  the  mess,  whin  the  kyarts 
was  climbin'  wan  on  top  av  the  other,  an'  rickochettin'  off 
the  mud  walls,  an'  showin'  their  agility,  wid  him  tearin' 
their  wheels  off,  I  heard  the  sound  of  distrestf ul  wailin'  on 
the  housetops,  an'  the  whole  Antonio  firm  an'  f am'ly  was 
cursin'  me  an'  him  from  the  roof  next  door;  me  bekase  I'd 
taken  refuge  wid  them,  and  him  bekase  he  was  playin' 
shtep-dances  wid  the  carriages  av  the  aristocracy. 

'  "Divart  his  attention,"  sez  Antonio,  dancin'  on  the 
roof  in  his  big  white  waistcoat.  '*  Divart  his  attention," 
he  sez,  "or  I'll  prosecute  you."  An  the  whole  f am'ly 
shouts,  "Hit  him  a  kick,  mister  soldier." 

*  "He's  divartin'  himself,"  I  sez,  for  it  was  just  the 
worth  av  a  man's  life  to  go  down  into  the  compound. 
But  by  way  av  makin'  show  I  threw  the  whisky-bottle 
('twas  not  full  whin  I  came  there)  at  him.     He  shpun 

51 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

round  from  what  was  left  av  the  last  kyart,  an'  shtuck 
his  head  into  the  veranda  not  three  feet  below  me. 
Maybe  'twas  the  temptin'ness  av  his  back  or  the  whisky. 
Anyways,  the  next  thing  I  knew  was  me,  wid  my  hands 
full  av  mud  an'  mortar,  all  fours  on  his  back,  an'  the 
Snider  just  slidin'  off  the  slope  av  his  head.  I  grabbed 
that  an'  scuffled  on  to  his  neck,  dhruv  my  knees  undher 
his  big  flappin'  ears,  an'  we  wint  to  glory  out  av  that 
compound  wid  a  shqueal  that  crawled  up  my  back  an' 
down  my  belly.  Thin  I  remimbered  the  Snider,  an'  I 
grup  ut  by  the  muzzle  an'  hit  him  on  the  head.  'Twas 
most  forlorn — like  tappin'  the  deck  av  a  throopship  wid 
a  cane  to  stop  the  engines  whin  you're  seasick.  But  I 
parsevered  till  I  sweated,  an'  at  last  from  takin'  no  notice 
at  all  he  began  to  grunt.  I  hit  wid  the  full  strength  that 
was  in  me  in  those  days,  an'  it  might  ha'  discommoded 
him.  We  came  back  to  the  p'rade-groun'  forty  miles 
an  hour,  trumpetin'  vainglorious.  I  never  stopped  ham- 
merin'  him  for  a  minut';  'twas  by  way  av  divartin' 
him  from  runnin'  undher  the  trees  an'  scrapin'  me  off 
like  a  poultice.  The  p'rade-groun'  an'  the  road  was  all 
empty,  but  the  throops  was  on  the  roofs  av  the  barricks, 
an'  betune  Ould  Thrajectory's  gruntin'  an'  mine  (for  I 
was  winded  wid  my  stone-breakin'),  I  heard  them  clap- 
pin'  an'  cheerin'.  He  was  growin'  more  confused  an' 
tuk  to  runnin'  in  circles. 

*  "Begad,"  sez  I  to  mysilf,  "there's  dacincy  in  all 
things,  Terence.  'Tis  like  you've  shplit  his  head,  and 
whin  you  come  out  av  Clink  you'll  be  put  under  stop- 
pages for  killin'  a  Gov'ment  elephint."  At  that  I  ca- 
ressed him.' 

*  'Ow  the  devil  did  you  do  that?  Might  as  well  pat  a 
barrick,'  said  Ortheris. 

52 


MY  LORD  THE  ELEPHANT 

*  Thried  all  manner  av  endearin'  epitaphs,  but  bein* 
more  than  a  little  shuk  up  I  disremimbered  what  the  divil 
would  answer  to.  So, "  Good  dog,"  I  sez; "  Pretty  puss," 
sez  I;  *'Whoa  mare,"  I  sez;  an'  at  that  I  fetched  him  a 
shtroke  av  the  butt  for  to  conciliate  him,  an'  he  stud  still 
among  the  barricks. 

'  "Will  no  one  take  me  off  the  top  av  this  murderin' 
volcano?"  I  sez  at  the  top  av  my  shout;  an'  I  heard  a 
man  yellin',  "Hould  on,  faith  an'  patience,  the  other 
elephints  are  comin'."  "Mother  av  Glory,"  I  sez,  "will 
I  rough-ride  the  whole  stud?  Come  an'  take  me  down, 
ye  cowards!" 

'Thin  a  brace  av  fat  she-elephints  wid  mahouts  an'  a 
commissariat  sergint  came  shuffling  round  the  corner  av 
the  barricks;  an'  the  mahouts  was  abusin'  ould  Poti- 
phar's  mother  an'  blood-kin. 

*  " Obsarve my  reinforcemints,"  I  sez.  "They're  goin' 
to  take  you  to  Clink,  my  son" ;  an'  the  child  av  calamity 
put  his  ears  forward  an'  swung  head  on  to  those  females. 
The  pluck  av  him,  afther  my  oratorio  on  his  brain-pan, 
wint  to  the  heart  av  me.  "I'm  in  dishgrace  mesilf,"  I 
sez,  "but  I'll  do  what  I  can  for  ye.  WiUye  go  to  Clink 
like  a  man,  or  fight  like  a  fool  whin  there's  no  chanst?" 
Wid  that  I  fetched  him  wan  last  lick  on  the  head,  an'  he 
fetched  a  tremenjus  groan  an'  dhropped  his  thrunk. 
"Think,"  sez  I  to  him,  an'  "Halt!"  I  sez  to  the  mahouts. 
They  was  anxious  so  to  do.  I  could  feel  the  ould  reprobit 
meditating  undher  me.  At  last  he  put  his  thrunk  straight 
out  an'  gave  a  most  melancholious  toot  (the  like  av  a  sigh 
wid  an  elephint) ;  an'  by  that  I  knew  the  white  flag  was  up 
an'  the  rest  was  no  more  than  considherin'  his  feelin's. 

*  "He's  done,"  I  sez.  "Kape  open  ordher  left  an' 
right  alongside.    We'll  go  to  Clink  quiet." 

53 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

*Sez  the  commissariat  sergeant  to  me  from  his  ele- 
phint,  "Are  you  a  man  or  a  mericle?"  sez  he. 

'  "I'm  betwixt  an'  betune,"  I  sez,  thryin'  to  set  up 
stiff-back.  "An'  what,"  sez  I,  "may  ha'  set  this  animal 
off  in  this  opprobrious  shtyle?"  I  sez,  the  gun-butt  light 
an'  easy  on  my  hip  an'  my  left  hand  dhropped,  such  as 
throopers  behave.  We  was  bowlin'  on  to  the  elephint- 
lines  under  escort  all  this  time. 

'  "I  was  not  in  the  lines  whin  the  throuble  began," 
sez  the  sergeant.  "They  tuk  him  off  carryin'  tents  an' 
such  like,  an'  put  him  to  the  gun-team.  I  knew  he  would 
not  like  ut,  but  by  token  it  fair  tore  his  heart  out." 

'  "Faith,  wan  man's  meat  is  another's  poison,"  I  sez. 
"  'Twas  bein'  put  on  to  carry  tents  that  was  the  ruin  av 
me."  An'  my  heart  warrumed  to  Ould  Double  Ends 
bekase  he  had  been  put  upon. 

'  "We'll  close  on  him  here,"  sez  the  sergeant,  whin  we 
got  to  the  elephint-lines.  All  the  mahouts  an'  their 
childher  was  round  the  pickets  cursin'  my  poney  from  a 
mile  to  hear.  "You  skip  off  on  to  my  elephint's  back," 
he  sez.     "There'll  be  throuble." 

'  "Sind  that  howlin'  crowd  away,"  I  sez,  "or  he'll 
thrample  the  life  out  av  thim."  I  cud  feel  his  ears  be- 
ginnin'  to  twitch.  "An'  do  you  an'  your  immoril  she- 
elephints  go  well  clear  away.  I  will  get  down  here.  He's 
an  Irishman,"  I  sez,  "for  all  his  long  Jew's  nose,  an  he 
shall  be  threated  like  an  Irishman." 

'  "Are  ye  tired  av  lif e? "  sez  the  sergeant. 

'  "Divil  a  bit,"  I  sez;  "but  wan  av  us  has  to  win,  an 
I'm  av  opinion  'tis  me.     Get  back,"  I  sez. 

*The  two  elephints  wint  off,  an'  Smith  O'Brine  came 
to  a  halt  dead  above  his  own  pickuts.  "Down,"  sez  I, 
whackin'  him  on  the  head,  an'  down  he  wint,  shoul- 

54 


MY  LORD  THE  ELEPHANT 

dher  over  shouldher  like  a  hill-side  slippin'  afther  rain. 
"Now,"  sez  I,  slidin'  down  his  nose  an'  runnin'  to  the  front 
av  him,  "you  will  see  the  man  that's  betther  than  you." 

'His  big  head  was  down  betune  his  fore-feet,  an'  they 
was  twisted  in  sideways  like  a  kitten's.  He  looked  the 
picture  av  innocince  an'  forlornsomeness,  an'  by  this  an' 
that  hisbighairy  undherhp  was  thremblin',  an'  he  winked 
his  eyes  together  to  kape  from  cryin'.  "  For  the  love  av 
God,"  I  sez,  clean  forgettin'  he  was  a  dumb  baste,  "don't 
take  ut  to  heart  so!  Aisy,  be  aisy,"  I  sez;  an'  wid  that  I 
rubbed  his  cheek  an'  betune  his  eyes  an'  the  top  av  his 
thrunk,  talkin'  all  the  time.  "Now,"  sez  I,  "I'll  make 
you  comfortable  for  the  night.  Send  wan  or  two  chil- 
dher  here,"  I  sez  to  the  sergeant  who  was  watchin'  for  to 
see  me  killed.     "  He'll  rouse  at  the  sight  av  a  man." ' 

'  You  got  bloomin'  clever  all  of  a  sudden,'  said  Ortheris. 
'  'Ow  did  you  come  to  know  'is  funny  little  ways  that 
soon?' 

'Bekase,'  said  Terence  with  emphasis,  'bekase  I  had 
conquered  the  beggar,  my  son.' 

'Ho!'  said  Ortheris  between  doubt  and  derision. 
'G'on.' 

'His  mahout's  child  an'  wan  or  two  other  line-babies 
came  runnin'  up,  not  bein'  afraid  av  anything,  an'  some 
got  wather,  an'  I  washed  the  top  av  his  poor  sore  head 
(begad,  I  had  done  him  to  a  turn!),  an'  some  picked  the 
pieces  av  carts  out  av  his  hide,  an'  we  scraped  him,  an' 
handled  him  all  over,  an'  we  put  a  thunderin'  big  poul- 
tice av  neem-leaves  (the  same  that  we  stick  on  a  pony's 
gall)  on  his  head,  an'  it  looked  like  a  smokin'-cap,  an'  we 
put  a  pile  av  young  sugar-cane  forninst  him,  an'  he  be- 
gan to  pick  at  ut.  "Now,"  sez  I,  settin'  down  on  his 
fore-foot,  "we'll  have  a  dhrink,  an'  let  bygones  be."     I 

55, 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

sent  a  naygur-child  for  a  quart  av  arrack,  an'  the 
sergeant's  wife  she  sint  me  out  four  fingers  av  whisky, 
an'  when  the  liquor  came  I  cud  see  by  the  twinkle  in 
Ould  Typhoon's  eye  that  he  was  no  m.ore  a  stranger  to 
ut  than  me, — worse  luck,  than  me !  So  he  tuk  his  quart 
like  a  Christian,  an'  thin  I  put  his  shackles  on,  chained 
him  fore  an'  aft  to  the  pickets,  an'  gave  him  my  blessin' 
an  wint  back  to  barricks.' 

*And  after?'  I  said  in  the  pause. 

*Ye  can  guess,'  said  Mulvaney.  'There  was  confu- 
sion, an'  the  colonel  gave  me  ten  rupees,  an'  the  adj'tant 
gave  me  five,  an'  my  comp'ny  captain  gave  me  five,  an' 
the  men  carried  me  round  the  barricks  shoutin'.' 

*Did  you  go  to  Clink?'  said  Ortheris. 

*I  niver  heard  a  word  more  about  the  misundher- 
standin'  wid  Kearney's  beak,  if  that's  what  you  mane; 
but  sev'ril  av  the  bhoys  was  tuk  off  sudden  to  the  Holy 
Christians'  Hotel  that  night.  Small  blame  to  thim, — 
they  had  twenty  rupees  in  dhrinks.  I  wint  to  lie  down 
an'  sleep  ut  off,  for  I  was  as  done  an'  double  done  as  him 
there  in  the  lines.  'Tis  no  small  thing  to  go  ride  ele- 
phints. 

*  Subsequint,  me  an'  the  Venerable  Father  av  Sin  be- 
came mighty  friendly.  I  wud  go  down  to  the  lines, 
whin  I  was  in  dishgrace,  an'  spend  an  afthernoon  col- 
login'  wid  him;  he  chewin'  wan  stick  av  sugar-cane  an' 
me  another,  as  thick  as  thieves.  He'd  take  all  I  had 
out  av  my  pockets  an'  put  ut  back  again,  an'  now  an' 
thin  I'd  bring  him  beer  for  his  dijistin',  an'  I'd  give  him 
advice  about  bein'  well  behaved  an'  keepin'  off  the  books. 
Afther  that  he  wint  the  way  av  the  Army,  an'  that's 
bein'  thransferred  as  soon  as  you've  made  a  good  friend.' 

*So  you  never  saw  him  again?'  I  demanded. 

56 


MY  LORD  THE  ELEPHANT 

*Do  you  belave  the  first  half  av  the  affair?'  said  Ter- 
ence. 

*ril  wait  till  Learoyd  comes,'  I  said  evasively.  Ex- 
cept when  he  was  carefully  tutored  by  the  other  two  and 
the  immediate  money-benefit  explained,  the  Yorkshire- 
man  did  not  tell  lies;  and  Terence,  I  knew,  had  a  pro- 
fligate imagination. 

*  There's  another  part  still,'  said  Mulvaney .  *  Ortheris 
was  in  that.' 

'Then  I'll  believe  it  all,'  I  answered,  not  from  any 
special  belief  in  Ortheris's  word,  but  from  desire  to  learn 
the  rest.  Ortheris  stole  a  pup  from  me  when  our  ac- 
quaintance was  new,  and  with  the  little  beast  stifling 
under  his  overcoat,  denied  not  only  the  theft,  but  that 
he  ever  was  interested  in  dogs. 

*That  was  at  the  beginnin'  av  the  Afghan  business,' 
said  Mulvaney;  'years  afther  the  men  that  had  seen  me 
do  the  thrick  was  dead  or  gone  home.  I  came  not  to 
speak  av  ut  at  the  last, — bekase  I  do  not  care  to  knock 
the  face  av  ivry  man  that  calls  me  a  liar.  At  the  very 
beginnin'  av  the  marchin'  I  wint  sick  like  a  fool.  I  had 
a  boot-gall,  but  I  was  all  for  keepin'  up  wid  the  rig'mint 
and  such  like  foolishness.  So  I  finished  up  wid  a  hole  in 
my  heel  that  you  cud  ha'  dhruv  a  tent-peg  into.  Faith, 
how  often  have  I  preached  that  to  recruities  since,  for 
a  warnin'  to  thim  to  look  afther  their  feet !  Our  docthor, 
who  knew  our  business  as  well  as  his  own,  he  sez  to  me, 
in  the  middle  av  the  Tangi  Pass  it  was:  "That's  sheer 
damned  carelessness,"  sez  he.  "  How  often  have  I  tould 
you  that  a  marchin'  man  is  no  stronger  than  his  feet, — 
his  feet, — his  feet  I "  he  sez.  "Now  to  hospital  you  go," 
he  sez,  "for  three  weeks,  an  expense  to  your  Quane  an'  a 
nuisince  to  your  counthry.    Next  time,"  sez  he,  "per- 

57 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

haps  you'll  put  some  av  the  whisky  you  pour  down  your 
throat,  an'  some  av  the  tallow  you  put  into  your  hair, 
into  your  socks,"  sez  he.  Faith  he  was  a  just  man.  So 
soon  as  we  come  to  the  head  av  the  Tangi  I  wint  to  hos- 
pital, hoppin'  on  wan  fut,  woild  wid  disappointment. 
'Twas  a  field-hospital  (all  flies  an'  native  apothecaries 
an'  liniment)  dhropped,  in  a  way  av  speakin',  close  by 
the  head  av  the  Tangi.  The  hospital  guard  was  ravin' 
mad  wid  us  sick  for  keepin'  thim  there,  an'  we  was  ravin' 
mad  at  bein'  kept;  an'  through  the  Tangi,  day  an'  night 
an'  night  an'  day,  the  fut  an'  horse  an'  guns  an'  com- 
missariat an'  tents  an'  followers  av  the  brigades  was 
pourin'  like  a  colTee-mill.  The  doolies  caire  dancin' 
through,  scores  an'  scores  av  thim,  an'  they'd  turn  up 
the  hill  to  hospital  wid  their  sick,  an'  I  lay  in  bed  nursin' 
my  heel,  an'  hearin'  the  men  bein'  tuk  out.  I  remimber 
wan  night  (the  time  I  was  tuk  wid  fever)  a  man  came 
rowlin'  through  the  tents  an',  "Is  there  any  room  to  die 
here?"  he  sez;  "there's  none  wid  the  columns";  an'  at 
that  he  dhropped  dead  acrost  a  cot,  an'  thin  the  man  in 
ut  began  to  complain  against  dyin'  all  alone  in  the  dust 
undher  dead  men.  Thin  I  must  ha'  turned  mad  wid  the 
fever,  an'  for  a  week  I  was  prayin'  the  saints  to  stop  the 
noise  av  the  columns  movin'  through  the  Tangi.  Gun- 
wheels  it  was  that  wore  my  head  thin.  Ye  know  how 
'tis  wid  fever? ' 

We  nodded;  there  was  no  need  to  explain. 

'Gun-wheels  an'  feet  an'  people  shoutin',  but  mostly 
gun-wheels.  'Twas  neither  night  nor  day  to  me  for  a 
week.  In  the  mornin'  they'd  rowl  up  the  tent-flies,  an' 
we  sick  cud  look  at  the  Pass  an'  considher  what  was 
comin'  next.  Horse,  fut,  or  guns,  they'd  be  sure  to 
dhrop  wan  or  two  sick  wid  us  an'  we'd  get  news.    Wan 

58 


MY  LORD  THE  ELEPHANT 

mornin',  whin  the  fever  hild  off  of  me,  I  was  walchin' 
the  Tangi,  an'  'twas  just  like  the  picture  on  the  back- 
side av  the  Afghan  medal, — men  an'  elephints  an'  guns 
comin'  wan  at  a  time  crawlin'  out  of  a  dhrain.' 

'It  were  a  dhrain,'  said  Ortheris  with  feeling.  'I've 
fell  out  an'  been  sick  in  the  Tangi  twice;  an'  wot  turns 
my  innards  ain't  no  bloomin'  vi'lets  neither.' 

'The  Pass  gave  a  twist  at  the  ind,  so  everything  shot 
out  suddint,  an'  they'd  built  a  throop-bridge  (mud  an' 
dead  mules)  over  a  nullah  at  the  head  av  ut.  I  lay  an' 
counted  the  elephints  (gun-elephints)  thryin'  the  bridge 
wid  their  thrunks  an'  rolling  out  sagacious.  The  fifth 
elephint's  head  came  round  the  corner,  an'  he  threw  up 
his  thrunk,  an'  he  fetched  a  toot,  an'  there  he  shtuck  at 
the  head  of  the  Tangi  like  a  cork  in  a  bottle.  "Faith," 
thinks  I  to  mysilf,  "he  will  not  thrust  the  bridge; there 
will  be  throuble."  ' 

'Trouble!  My  Gawd!'  said  Ortheris.  'Terence,  I 
was  be'ind  that  blooming  'uttee  up  to  my  stock  in  dust. 
Trouble ! ' 

'Tell  on  then,  little  man;  I  only  saw  the  hospital  ind 
av  ut.'  Mulvaney  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  as 
Ortheris  heaved  the  dogs  aside  and  went  on. 

'We  was  escort  to  them  guns,  three  comp'niesof  us,' 
he  said.  'Dewey  was  our  major,  an'  our  orders  was  to 
roll  up  anything  we  come  across  in  the  Tangi  an'  shove 
it  out  t'other  end.  Sort  o'  pop-gun  picnic,  see?  We'd 
rolled  up  a  lot  o'  lazy  beggars  o'  native  followers,  an' 
some  commissariat  supplies  that  was  bivoo-whackin' 
for  ever  seemin'ly,  an'  all  the  sweepin's  of  'arf  a  dozen 
things  what  ought  to  'ave  bin  at  the  front  weeks  ago, 
an'  Dewey,  he  sez  to  us:  "You're  most  *eart-breakin' 
sweeps,"  'e  sez.     "For  'eving's  sake,"  sez  'e,  "do  a 

59 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

little  sweepin*  now."  So  we  swep', — s'welp  me,  'ow  we 
did  sweep  'em  along  I  There  was  a  full  reg'ment  be'ind 
us;  most  anxious  to  get  on  they  was;  an'  they  kep'  on 
sendin'  to  us  with  the  colonel's  compliments,  an'  what 
in  'ell  was  we  stoppin'  the  way  for,  please?  Oh,  they 
was  partic'lar  poUte!  So  was  Dewey!  'E  sent  'em 
back  wot-for,  an'  'e  give  us  wot-for,  an'  we  give  the  guns 
wot-for,  an'  they  give  the  commissariat  wot-for,  an'  the 
commissariat  give  first-class  extry  wot-for  to  the  native 
followers,  an'  on  we'd  go  again  till  we  was  stuck,  an'  the 
'ole  Pass  'ud  be  swimmin'  Allelujah  for  a  mile  an'  a  'arf. 
We  'adn't  no  tempers  nor  no  seats  to  our  trousies,  an'  our 
coats  an'  our  rifles  was  chucked  in  the  carts,  so  as  we  might 
ha'  been  cut  up  any  minute,  an'  we  wasdoin'  drover-work. 
That  was  wot  it  was;  drovin'  on  the  Islin'ton  road ! 

*  I  was  close  up  at  the  'ead  of  the  column  when  we  saw 
the  end  of  the  Tangi  openin'  out  ahead  of  us,  an'  I  sez : 
"The  door's  open,  boys.  'Oo'll  git  to  the  gall'ry  fust?" 
I  sez.  Then  I  saw  Dewey  screwin'  'is  bloomin'  eyeglass 
in  'is  eye  an'  lookin'  straight  on.  "Propped, — ther 
beggar!"  he  sez;  an'  the  be'ind  end  o'  that  bloomin'  old 
'uttee  was  shinin'  through  the  dust  like  a  bloomin'  old 
moon  made  o'  tarpaulin.  Then  we  'alted,  all  chock-a- 
block,  one  atop  o '  the  other,  an'  right  at  the  back  o'  the 
guns  there  sails  in  a  lot  o'  silly  grinnin'  camels,  what  the 
commissariat  was  in  charge  of — sailin'  away  as  if  they 
was  at  the  Zoological  Gardens  an'  squeezin'  our  men  most 
awful.  The  dust  was  that  up  you  couldn't  see  your  'and ; 
an'  the  more  we  'it  'em  on  the  'ead  the  more  their  drivers 
sez,  "Accha!  Accha!"  an'  by  Gawd  it  was  "at  yer" 
before  you  knew  where  you  was.  An'  that  'uttee's  be- 
'ind end  stuck  in  the  Pass  good  an'  tight,  an'  no  one 
knew  wot  for. 


MY  LORD  THE  ELEPHANT 

*Fust  thing  we  *ad  to  do  was  to  fight  they  bloomin' 
camels.  I  wasn't  goin'  to  be  eat  by  no  buU-oont,  so  I 
'eld  up  my  trousies  with  one  'and,  standin'  on  a  rock, 
an'  'it  away  with  my  belt  at  every  nose  I  saw  bobbin' 
above  me.  Then  the  camels  fell  back,  an'  they  'ad  to 
fight  to  keep  the  rear-guard  an'  the  native  followers  from 
crushin'  into  them;  an'  the  rear-guard  'ad  to  send  down 
the  Tangi  to  warn  the  other  reg'ment  that  we  was  blocked. 
I  'eard  the  mahouts  shoutin'  in  front  that  the  'uttee 
wouldn't  cross  the  bridge;  an'  I  saw  Dewey  skippin' 
about  through  the  dust  like  a  musquito-worm  in  a  tank. 
Then  our  comp'nies  got  tired  o'  waitin'  an'  begun  to 
mark  time,  an'  some  goat  struck  up  "Tommy,  make 
room  for  your  Uncle."  After  that,  you  couldn't  neither 
see  nor  breathe  nor  'ear;  an'  there  we  was,  singin'  bloomin' 
serenades  to  the  end  of  a'  elephant  that  don't  care  for 
tunes!  I  sung  too.  I  couldn't  do  nothin'  else.  They 
was  strengthenin'  the  bridge  in  front,  all  for  the  sake  of 
the  'uttee.  By  an'  by  a'  orf'cer  caught  me  by  the  throat 
an'  choked  the  sing  out  of  me.  So  I  caught  the  next 
man  I  could  see  by  the  throat  an'  choked  the  sing  out  of 
'im.' 

'What's  the  difference  between  being  choked  by  an 
officer  and  being  hit?'  I  asked,  remembering  a  little 
affair  in  which  Ortheris's  honour  had  been  injured  by  his 
lieutenant. 

'One's  a  bloomin'  lark,  an'  one's  a  bloomin'  insult!' 
said  Ortheris.  'Besides,  we  was  on  service,  an'  no  one 
cares  what  an  orf'cer  does  then,  s'long  as  'e  gets  our  ra- 
tions an'  don't  get  us  unusual  cut  up.  After  that  we  got 
quiet,  an'  I  'eard  Dewey  say  that  'e'd  court-martial  the 
lot  of  us  soon  as  we  was  out  of  the  Tangi.  Then  we 
give  three  cheers  for  Dewey  an'  three  more  for  the  Tangi; 

ei 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

an'  the  'uttee's  be'ind  end  was  stickin'  in  the  Pass,  so  we 
cheered  that.  Then  they  said  the  bridge  had  been 
strengthened,  an'  we  give  three  cheers  for  the  bridge ; 
but  the  'uttee  wouldn't  move  a  bloomin'  hinch.  Not 
'im!  Then  we  cheered  'im  again,  an'  Kite  Dawson, 
that  was  corner-man  at  all  the  sing-songs  ('e  died  on  the 
way  down),  began  to  give  a  nigger  lecture  on  the  be'ind 
ends  of  elephants,  an'  Dewey,  'e  tried  to  keep  'is  face 
for  a  minute,  but,  Lord,  you  couldn't  do  such  when  Kite 
was  playin'  the  fool  an'  askin'  whether  'e  mightn't  'ave 
leave  to  rent  a  villa  an'  raise  'is  orphan  children  in  the 
Tangi,  'cos  'e  couldn't  get  'ome  no  more.  Then  up  come 
a  orf'cer  (mounted,  like  a  fool,  too)  from  the  reg'ment 
at  the  back  with  some  more  of  his  colonel's  pretty  little 
compliments,  an'  what  was  this  delay,  please.  We 
sung  'im  "There's  another  bloomin'  row  downstairs" 
till  'is  'orse  bolted,  an'  then  we  give  'im  three  cheers; 
an'  Kite  Dawson  sez  'e  was  goin'  to  write  to  "The 
Times"  about  the  awful  state  of  the  streets  in  Afghanis- 
tan. The  'uttee's  be  'ind  end  was  stickin'  in  the  Pass  all 
the  time.  At  last  one  o'  the  mahouts  came  to  Dewey 
an'  sez  something.  "Oh  Lord!"  sez  Dewey,  "I  don't 
know  the  beggar's  visiting-list!  I'll  give  'im  another 
ten  minutes  an'  then  I'll  shoot  'im."  Things  was  gettin' 
pretty  dusty  in  the  Tangi,  so  we  all  listened.  "  'E 
wants  to  see  a  friend,"  said  Dewey  out  loud  to  the  men, 
an'  'e  mopped  'is  forehead  an'  sat  down  on  a  gun-tail. 

'I  leave  it  to  you  to  judge  'ow  the  reg'ment  shouted. 
"That's  all  right,"  we  sez.  "Three  cheers  for  Mister 
Winterbottom's  friend,"  sez  we.  "Why  didn't  you  say 
so  at  first?  Pass  the  word  for  old  Swizzletail's  wife," 
— and  such  like.  Some  o'  the  men  they  didn't  laugh. 
They  took  it  same  as  if  it  might  have  been  a'  introduc- 

62 


MY  LORD  THE  ELEPHANT 

tion  like,  'cos  they  knew  about  'uttees.  Then  we  all 
run  forward  over  the  guns  an'  in  an'  out  among  the 
elephants'  legs, — Lord,  I  wonder  'arf  the  comp'nies 
wasn't  squashed — an'  the  next  thing  I  saw  was  Terence 
'ere,  lookin'  like  a  sheet  o'  wet  paper,  comin'  down  the 
'illside  wid  a  sergeant.  " 'Strewth,"  I  sez.  "I  might 
ha'  knowed  'e'd  be  at  the  bottom  of  any  cat's  trick,"  sez 
L     Now  you  tell  wot  'appened  your  end? ' 

*  I  lay  be  the  same  as  you  did,  little  man,  listenin'  to 
the  noises  an'  the  bhoys  singin'.  Presintly  I  heard  whis- 
perin'  an'  the  docthor  sayin',  "  Get  out  av  this,  wakin'  my 
sick  wid  your  jokes  about  elephints."  An'  another  man 
sez,  all  angry:  "  'Tis  a  joke  that  is  stoppin'  two  thou- 
sand men  in  the  Tangi.  That  son  av  sin  av  a  haybag  av 
an  elephint  sez,  or  the  mahouts  sez  for  him,  that  he 
wants  to  see  a  friend,  an'  he'll  not  lift  hand  or  fut  till  he 
finds  him.  I'm  wore  out  wid  inthrojucin'  sweepers  an' 
coolies  to  him,  an'  his  hide's  as  full  o'  bay'net  pricks  as  a 
musquito-net  av  holes,  an'  I'm  here  undher  ordhers, 
docthor  dear,  to  ask  if  any  one,  sick  or  well,  or  alive  or 
dead,  knows  an  elephint.  I'm  not  mad,"  he  sez,  settin' 
on  a  box  av  medical  comforts.  "  'Tis  my  ordhers,  an' 
'tis  my  mother,"  he  sez,  ''that  would  laugh  at  me  for 
the  father  av  all  fools  to-day.  Does  any  wan  here  know 
an  elephint?  "     We  sick  was  all  quiet. 

*  **Now  you've  had  your  answer,"  sez  the  docthor. 
"Go  away." 

*  "Hould  on,"  I  sez,  thinkin'  mistiways  in  my  cot,  an' 
I  did  not  know  my  own  voice.  "I'm  by  way  av  bein' 
acquainted  wid  an  elephint,  myself,"  I  sez. 

'"That's  delirium,"  sez  the  docthor.  "See  what 
you've  done,  sergeant.  Lie  down,  man,"  he  sez,  seein' 
me  thryin'  to  get  up. 

63 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

*  '*Tis  not,"  I  sez.  "I  rode  him  round  Cawnpore 
barricks.  He  will  not  ha'  forgotten.  I  bruk  his  head 
wid  a  rifle." 

'  "Mad  as  a  coot,"  sez  the  docthor,  an'  thin  he  felt  my 
head.  "It's  quare,"  sez  he.  "Man,"  he  sez.  "if  you 
go,  d'you  know  'twill  either  kill  or  cure?" 

'  "What  do  I  care?"  sez  I.  "If  I'm  mad,  'tis  better 
dead." 

'  "Faith,  that's  sound  enough,"  sez  the  docthor. 
"You've  no  fever  on  you  now." 

'  "Come  on,"  sez  the  sergeant.  "We're  all  mad  to- 
day, an'  the  throops  are  wantin'  their  dinner."  He  put 
his  arm  round  av  me  an'  I  came  into  the  sun,  the  hills 
an'  the  rocks  skippin'  big  giddy-go-rounds.  "Seven- 
teen years  have  I  been  in  the  army,"  sez  the  sergeant, 
"an'  the  days  av  mericles  are  not  done.  They'll  be  giv- 
in'  us  more  pay  next.  Begad,"  he  sez,  "the  brute  knows 
you!" 

'Ould  Obstructionist  was  screamin'  like  all  possist 
whin  I  came  up,  an'  I  heard  forty  million  men  up  the 
Tangi  shoutin',  "  He  knows  him ! "  Thin  the  big  thrunk 
came  round  me  an'  I  was  nigh  fainting  wid  weakness. 
"Are  you  well,  Malachi?"  I  sez,  givin'  him  the  name  he 
answered  to  in  the  lines.  "Malachi,  my  son,  are  you 
well?"  sez  I,  "for  I  am  not."  At  that  he  thrumpeted 
again  till  the  Pass  rang  to  ut,  an'  the  other  elephints  tuk 
it  up.  Thin  I  got  a  little  strength  back.  "Down, 
Malachi,"  I  sez,  "an'  put  me  up,  but  touch  me  tendher 
for  I  am  not  good."  He  was  on  his  knees  in  a  minut  an' 
he  slung  me  up  as  gentle  as  a  girl.  "  Go  on  now,  my  son, ' ' 
I  sez.  "You're  blockin'  the  road."  He  fetched  wan 
more  joyous  toot,  an'  swung  grand  out  av  the  head  av 
the  Tangi,  his  gun-gear  clankin'  on  his  back;  an'  at  the 

64 


MY  LORD  THE  ELEPHANT 

back  av  him  there  wint  the  most  amazin'  shout  I  iver 
heard.  An'  thin  I  felt  my  head  shpin,  an'  a  mighty 
sweat  bruk  out  on  me,  an'  Malachi  was  growin'  taller  an' 
taller  to  me  settin'  on  his  back,  an'  I  sez,  foolish  like  an' 
weak,  smilin'  all  round  an'  about,  "Take  me  down,"  I 
sez,  "or  I'll  fall." 

'The  next  I  remimber  was  lyin'  in  my  cot  again,  limp 
as  a  chewed  rag,  but  cured  av  the  fever,  an'  the  Tangi 
as  empty  as  the  back  av  my  hand.  They'd  all  gone  up 
to  the  front,  an'  ten  days  later  I  wint  up  too,  havin' 
blocked  an'  unblocked  an  entire  army  corps.  What  do 
you  think  av  ut,  sorr?' 

'I'll  wait  till  I  see  Learoyd,'  I  repeated. 

'  Ah'm  here,'  said  a  shadow  from  among  the  shadows. 
'  Ah've  heard  t'  tale  too.' 

'Is  it  true,  Jock?' 

'Ay;  true  as  t'  owd  bitch  has  getten  t'  mange.  Or- 
th'ris,  yo'  maun't  let  t'  dawgs  hev  owt  to  do  wi'  her.' 


65 


ONE  VIEW  OF  THE  QUESTION 

(1890) 

From  Shafiz  Ullah  Khan,  son  of  Hyat  Ullah  Khan,  in 
the  honoured  service  of  His  Highness  the  Rao  Sahib 
of  Jagesur,  which  is  in  the  northern  borders  of  Hin- 
dustan, and  Orderly  to  his  Highness,  this  to  Kazi 
Jamal-ud-Din,  son  of  Kazi  Ferisht-ud-Din  Khan, 
in  the  service  of  the  Rao  Sahib,  a  minister  much 
honoured.  From  that  place  which  they  call  the 
Northbrook  Club,  in  the  town  of  London,  under 
the  shadow  of  the  Empress,  it  is  written : 

Between  brother  and  chosen  brother  be  no  long  protes- 
tations of  Love  and  Sincerity.  Heart  speaks  naked 
to  Heart,  and  the  Head  answers  for  all.  Glory  and 
Honour  on  thy  house  till  the  ending  of  the  years 
and  a  tent  in  the  borders  of  Paradise. 

MY  Brother, — In  regard  to  that  for  which  I  was 
despatched  follows  the  account.  I  have  pur- 
chased for  the  Rao  Sahib,  and  paid  sixty  pounds 
in  every  hundred,  the  things  he  most  desired.  Thus: 
two  of  the  great  fawn-coloured  tiger-dogs,  male  and  fe- 
male, their  pedigree  being  written  upon  paper,  and  silver 
collars  adorning  their  necks.  For  the  Rao  Sahib's  greater 
pleasure  I  send  them  at  once  by  the  steamer,  in  charge 

@6 


ONE  VIEW  OF  THE  QUESl  ION 

of  a  man  who  will  render  account  of  them  at  Bombay  tc 
Lhe  bankers  there.  They  are  the  best  of  all  dogs  in  this 
place.  Of  guns  I  have  bought  five — two  silver-sprigged 
in  the  stock,  with  gold  scroll-work  about  the  hammer, 
both  double-barrelled,  hard-striking,  cased  in  velvet 
and  red  leather;  three  of  unequalled  workmanship,  but 
lacking  adornment;  a  pump-gun  that  fires  fourteen  times 
— this  when  the  Rao  Sahib  drives  pig;  a  double-barrelled 
shell-gun  for  tiger,  and  that  is  a  miracle  of  workmanship ; 
and  a  fowling-piece  no  lighter  than  a  feather,  with  green 
and  blue  cartridges  by  the  thousand.  Also  a  very  small 
rifle  for  blackbuck,  that  yet  would  slay  a  man  at  four 
hundred  paces.  The  harness  with  the  golden  crests  for 
the  Rao  Sahib's  coach  is  not  yet  complete,  by  reason  of 
the  difficulty  of  lining  the  red  velvet  into  leather;  but 
the  two-horse  harness  and  the  great  saddle  with  the 
golden  holsters  that  is  for  state  use  have  been  put  with 
camphor  into  a  tin  box,  and  I  have  signed  it  with  my 
ring.  Of  the  grained  leather  case  of  women's  tools  and 
tweezers  for  the  hair  and  beard,  of  the  perfumes  and  the 
silks,  and  all  that  was  wanted  by  the  women  behind  the 
curtains,  I  have  no  knowledge.  They  are  matters  of 
long  coming,  and  the  hawk-bells,  hoods,  and  jesses  with 
the  golden  lettering  are  as  much  delayed  as  they.  Read 
this  in  the  Rao  Sahib's  ear,  and  speak  of  my  diligence 
and  zeal,  that  favour  may  not  be  abated  by  absence,  and 
keep  the  eye  of  constraint  upon  that  jesting  dog  without 
teeth — Bahadur  Shah^ — for  by  thy  aid  and  voice,  and 
what  I  have  done  in  regard  to  the  guns,  I  look,  as  thou 
knowest,  for  the  headship  of  the  army  of  Jagesur.  That 
conscienceless  one  desires  it  also,  and  I  have  heard  that 
the  Rao  Sahib  leans  thatward.  Have  ye  done,  then, 
with  the  drinking  of  wine  in  your  house,  my  brother,  or 

67 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

has  Bahadur  Shah  become  a  forswearer  of  brandy?  I 
would  not  that  drink  should  end  him;  but  the  well-mixed 
draught  leads  to  madness.     Consider. 

And  now  in  regard  to  this  land  of  the  Sahibs,  follows 
that  thou  hast  demanded.  God  is  my  witness  that  I 
have  striven  to  understand  all  that  I  saw  and  a  little  of 
what  I  heard.  My  w^ords  and  intention  are  those  of 
truth,  yet  it  may  be  that  I  write  of  nothing  but  lies. 

Since  the  first  wonder  and  bewilderment  of  my  behold- 
ing is  gone — we  note  the  jew^els  in  the  ceiling-dome,  but 
later  the  filth  on  the  floor — I  see  clearly  that  this  town, 
London,  which  is  as  large  as  all  Jagesur,  is  accursed,  be- 
ing dark  and  unclean,  devoid  of  sun,  and  full  of  low-born, 
who  are  perpetually  drunk,  and  howl  in  the  streets  like 
jackals,  men  and  women  together.  At  nightfall  it  is  the 
custom  of  countless  thousands  of  women  to  descend  into 
the  streets  and  sweep  them,  roaring,  making  jests,  and 
demanding  liquor.  At  the  hour  of  this  attack  it  is  the 
custom  of  the  householders  to  take  their  wives  and 
children  to  the  playhouses  and  the  places  of  entertain- 
ment; evil  and  good  thus  returning  home  together  as  do 
kine  from  the  pools  at  sundown.  I  have  never  seen  any 
sight  like  this  sight  in  all  the  world,  and  I  doubt  if  a  double 
is  to  be  found  on  the  hither  side  of  the  gates  of  Hell. 
Touching  the  mystery  of  their  craft,  it  is  an  ancient  one, 
but  the  householders  assemble  in  herds,  being  men  and 
women,  and  cry  aloud  to  their  God  that  it  is  not  there; 
the  said  women  pounding  at  the  doors  without.  More- 
over, upon  the  day  when  they  go  to  prayer  the  drink- 
places  are  only  opened  when  the  mosques  are  shut;  as 
who  should  dam  the  Jumna  river  for  Friday  only.  There- 
fore the  men  and  women,  being  forced  to  accomplish 
their  desires  in  the  shorter  space,  become  the  more  furi- 

68 


ONE  VIEW  OF  THE  QUESTION 

ously  drunk,  and  roll  in  the  gutter  together.  They  are 
there  regarded  by  those  going  to  pray.  Further,  and 
for  visible  sign  that  the  place  is  forgotten  of  God,  there 
falls  upon  certain  days,  without  warning,  a  cold  dark- 
ness, whereby  the  sun's  light  is  altogether  cut  off  from 
all  the  city,  and  the  people,  male  and  female,  and  the 
drivers  of  the  vehicles,  grope  and  howl  in  this  Pit  at  high 
noon,  none  seeing  the  other.  The  air  being  filled  with 
the  smoke  of  Hell — sulphur  and  pitch  as  it  is  written — 
they  die  speedily  with  gaspings,  and  so  are  buried  in  the 
dark.  This  is  a  terror  beyond  the  pen,  but,  by  my  head, 
I  write  of  what  I  have  seen ! 

It  is  not  true  that  the  Sahibs  worship  one  God,  as  do 
we  of  the  Faith,  or  that  the  differences  in  their  creed  be 
like  those  now  running  between  Shiah  and  Sunni.  I  am 
but  a  fighting  man,  and  no  darvesh,  caring,  as  thou 
knowest,  as  much  for  Shiah  as  Sunni.  But  I  have 
spoken  to  many  people  of  the  nature  of  their  Gods. 
One  there  is  who  is  the  head  of  the  Mukht-i-Fauj,^  and 
he  is  worshipped  by  men  in  blood-red  clothes,  who  shout 
and  become  without  sense.  Another  is  an  image,  before 
whom  they  burn  candles  and  incense  in  just  such  a  place 
as  I  have  seen  when  I  went  to  Rangoon  to  buy  Burma 
ponies  for  the  Rao.  Yet  a  third  has  naked  altars  facing 
a  great  assembly  of  dead.  To  him  they  sing  chiefly; 
and  for  others  there  is  a  woman  who  was  the  mother  of 
the  great  prophet  that  was  before  Mahommed.  The 
common  folk  have  no  God,  but  worship  those  who  may 
speak  to  them  hanging  from  the  lamps  in  the  street. 
The  most  wise  people  worship  themselves  and  such  things 
as  they  have  made  with  their  mouths  and  their  hands, 

^Salvation  Army. 
69 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

and  this  is  to  be  found  notably  among  the  barren  women, 
of  whom  there  are  many.  It  is  the  custom  of  men  and 
women  to  make  for  themselves  such  God  as  they  desire; 
pinching  and  patting  the  very  soft  clay  of  their  thought 
into  the  acceptable  mould  of  their  lusts.  So  each  is  fur- 
nished with  a  Godling  after  his  own  heart;  and  this  God- 
ling  is  changed  in  a  little,  as  the  stomach  turns  or  the 
health  is  altered.  Thou  wilt  not  believe  this  tale,  my 
brother.  Nor  did  I  when  I  was  first  told,  but  now  it  is 
nothing  to  me;  so  greatly  has  the  foot  of  travel  let  out 
the  stirrup-holes  of  belief. 

But  thou  wilt  say,  'What  matter  to  us  whether  Ah- 
med's beard  or  Mahmud's  be  the  longer!  Speak  what 
thou  canst  of  the  Accomplishment  of  Desire.'  Would 
that  thou  wert  here  to  talk  face  to  face  and  w^alk  abroad 
with  me  and  learn. 

To  this  people  it  is  a  matter  of  Heaven  and  Hell 
whether  Ahmed's  beard  and  Mahmud's  tally  or  differ 
but  by  a  hair.  Thou  knowest  the  system  of  their  state- 
craft? It  is  this.  Certain  men,  appointing  themselves, 
go  about  and  speak  to  the  low-born,  the  peasants,  the 
leather-workers,  and  the  cloth-dealers,  and  the  w^omen, 
saying :  '  Give  us  leave  by  your  favour  to  speak  for  you 
in  the  council.'  Securing  that  permission  by  large  prom- 
ises, they  return  to  the  council-place,  and,  sitting  un- 
armed, some  six  hundred  together,  speak  at  random 
each  for  himself  and  his  own  ball  of  low^-born.  The 
viziers  and  dewans  of  the  Empress  must  ever  beg  money 
at  their  hands,  for  unless  more  than  a  half  of  the  six  hun- 
dred be  of  one  heart  towards  the  spending  of  the  revenues, 
neither  horse  can  be  shod,  rifle  loaded,  nor  man  clothed 
throughout  the  land.  Remember  this  very  continually. 
The  six  hundred  are  above  the  Empress,  above  the  Vice- 

70 


ONE  VIEW  OF  THE  QUESTIOiN 

roy  of  India,  above  the  Head  of  the  Army  and  every 
other  power  that  thou  hast  ever  known.  Because  they 
hold  the  revenues. 

They  are  divided  into  two  hordes — the  one  perpet- 
ually hurling  abuse  at  the  other,  and  bidding  the  low- 
born hamper  and  rebel  against  all  that  the  other  may 
devise  for  government.  Except  that  they  are  unarmed, 
and  so  call  each  other  liar,  dog,  and  bastard  without  fear, 
even  under  the  shadow  of  the  Empress's  throne,  they 
are  at  bitter  war  which  is  without  any  end.  They  put 
lie  against  lie,  till  the  low-born  and  common  folk  grow 
drunk  with  lies,  and  in  their  turn  begin  to  lie  and  refuse 
to  pay  the  revenues.  Further,  they  divide  their  women 
into  bands,  and  send  them  into  this  fight  with  yellow 
flowers  in  their  hands,  and  since  the  belief  of  a  woman  is 
but  her  lover's  belief  stripped  of  judgment,  very  many 
wild  words  are  added.  Well  said  the  slave-girl  to  Ma- 
mun  in  the  delectable  pages  of  the  Son  of  Abdullah: — 

'  Oppression  and  the  sword  slay  fast — 
Thy  breath  kills  slowly  but  at  last.' 

If  they  desire  a  thing  they  declare  that  it  is  true.  If 
they  desire  it  not,  though  that  were  Death  itself,  they 
cry  aloud,  'It  has  never  been.'  Thus  their  talk  is  the 
talk  of  children,  and  like  children  they  snatch  at  what 
they  covet,  not  considering  whether  it  is  their  own  or 
another's.  And  in  their  councils,  when  the  army  of  un- 
reason has  come  to  the  defile  of  dispute,  and  there  is  no 
more  talk  left  on  either  side,  they,  dividing,  count  heads, 
and  the  will  of  that  side  which  has  the  larger  number  of 
heads  makes  that  law.  But  the  outnumbered  side  run 
speedily  among  the  common  people  and  bid  them  tram- 

71 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

pie  on  that  law,  and  slay  the  officers  thereof.  Follows 
slaughter  by  night  of  men  unarmed,  and  the  slaughter  of 
cattle  and  insults  to  women.  They  do  not  cut  off  the 
noses  of  women,  but  they  crop  their  hair  and  scrape  the 
flesh  with  pins.  Then  those  shameless  ones  of  the  coun- 
cil stand  up  before  the  judges  wiping  their  mouths  and 
making  oath.  They  say:  'Before  God  we  are  free  from 
blame.  Did  we  say,  "Heave  that  stone  out  of  that  road 
and  kill  that  one  and  no  other"?'  So  they  are  not  made 
shorter  by  the  head  because  they  said  only :  '  Here  are 
stones  and  yonder  is  such  a  fellow  obeying  the  Law  which 
is  no  law  because  we  do  not  desire  it.' 

Read  this  in  the  Rao  Sahib's  ear,  and  ask  him  if  he 
remembers  that  season  w^ien  the  Manglot  headmen  re- 
fused revenue,  not  because  they  could  not  pay,  but  be- 
cause they  judged  the  cess  extreme.  I  and  thou  went 
out  with  the  troopers  all  one  day,  and  the  black  lances 
raised  the  thatch,  so  that  there  w^as  hardly  any  need  of 
firing;  and  no  man  was  slain.  But  this  land  is  at  secret 
war  and  veiled  killing.  In  five  years  of  peace  they  have 
slain  within  their  own  borders  and  of  their  own  kin  more 
men  than  would  have  fallen  had  the  ball  of  dissension 
been  left  to  the  mallet  of  the  army.  And  yet  there  is  no 
hope  of  peace,  for  soon  the  sides  again  divide,  and  then 
they  will  cause  to  be  slain  more  men  unarmed  and  in  the 
fields.  And  so  much  for  that  matter,  which  is  to  our 
advantage.  There  is  a  better  thing  to  be  told,  and  one 
tending  to  the  Accomplishment  of  Desire.  Read  here 
with  a  fresh  mind  after  sleep.     I  write  as  I  understand. 

Above  all  this  war  without  honour  lies  that  which  I 
find  hard  to  put  into  writing,  and  thou  knowest  I  am 
unhandy  of  the  pen.  I  will  ride  the  steed  of  Inability 
sideways  at  the  wall  of  Expression.     The  earth  under 

72 


ONE  VIEW  OF  THE  QUESTION 

foot  is  sick  and  sour  with  tlie  much  handling  of  man,  as  a 
grazing  ground  sours  under  cattle;  and  the  air  is  sick 
too.  Upon  the  ground  they  have  laid  in  this  town,  as  it 
were,  the  stinking  boards  of  a  stable,  and  through  these 
boards,  between  a  thousand  thousand  houses,  the  rank 
humours  of  the  earth  sweat  through  to  the  over-burdened 
air  that  returns  them  to  their  breeding-place;  for  the 
smoke  of  their  cooking  fires  keeps  all  in  as  the  cover  the 
juices  of  the  sheep.  And  in  like  manner  there  is  a  green 
sickness  among  the  people,  and  especially  among  the 
six  hundred  men  who  talk.  Neither  winter  nor  autumn 
abates  that  malady  of  the  soul.  I  have  seen  it  among 
women  in  our  own  country,  and  in  boys  not  yet  blooded 
to  the  sword;  but  I  have  never  seen  so  much  thereof  be- 
fore. Through  the  peculiar  operation  of  this  thing  the 
people,  abandoning  honour  and  steadfastness,  question 
all  authority,  not  as  men  question,  but  as  girls,  whim- 
peringly, with  pinching  in  the  back  when  the  back  is 
turned,  and  mowing.  If  one  cries  in  the  streets,  'There 
has  been  an  injustice,'  they  take  him  not  to  make  com- 
plaint to  those  appointed,  but  all  who  pass,  drinking  his 
words,  fly  clamorously  to  the  house  of  the  accused  and 
write  evil  things  of  him,  his  wives  and  his  daughters;  for 
they  take  no  thought  to  the  weighing  of  evidence,  but 
are  as  women.  And  with  one  hand  they  beat  their  con- 
stables who  guard  the  streets,  and  with  the  other  beat 
the  constables  for  resenting  that  beating,  and  fine  them. 
When  they  have  in  all  things  made  light  of  the  State 
they  cry  to  the  State  for  help,  and  it  is  given,  so  that 
the  next  time  they  will  cry  more.  Such  as  are  oppressed 
riot  through  the  streets,  bearing  banners  that  hold  four 
days'  labour  and  a  week's  bread  in  cost  and  toil;  and 
when  neither  horse  nor  foot  can  pass  by  they  are  satis- 

73 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

fied.  Others  receiving  wages,  refuse  to  work  till  they 
get  more,  and  the  priests  help  them,  and  also  men  of  the 
six  hundred — for  where  rebellion  is,  one  of  those  men 
will  come  as  a  kite  to  a  dead  bullock — and  priests,  talker, 
and  men  together  declare  that  it  is  right  because  these 
will  not  work  that  no  others  may  attempt.  In  this 
manner  they  have  so  confused  the  loading  and  the  unload- 
ing of  the  ships  that  come  to  this  town  that,  in  sending 
the  Rao  Sahib's  guns  and  harness,  I  saw  fit  to  send  the 
cases  by  the  train  to  another  ship  that  sailed  from  another 
place.  There  is  now  no  certainty  in  any  sending.  But 
who  injures  the  merchants  shuts  the  door  of  well-being 
on  the  city  and  the  army.  And  ye  know  what  Sa'adi 
saith : — 

'How  may  the  merchant  westward  fare 
When  he  hears  the  tale  of  the  tumults  there? ' 

No  man  can  keep  faith,  because  he  cannot  tell  how  his 
underlings  will  go.  They  have  made  the  servant  greater 
than  the  master,  for  that  he  is  the  servant;  not  reckon- 
ing that  each  is  equal  under  God  to  the  appointed  task. 
That  is  a  thing  to  be  put  aside  in  the  cupboard  of  the 
mind. 

Further,  the  misery  and  outcry  of  the  common  folk  of 
whom  the  earth's  bosom  is  weary  has  so  wrought  upon 
the  minds  of  certain  people  who  have  never  slept  under 
fear  nor  seen  the  flat  edge  of  the  sword  on  the  heads  of  a 
mob,  that  they  cry  out : '  Let  us  abate  everything  that  is, 
and  altogether  labour  with  our  bare  hands.'  Their 
hands  in  that  employ  would  fester  at  the  second  stroke ; 
and  I  have  seen,  for  all  their  unrest  at  the  agonies  of 
others,  they  abandon  no  whit  of  soft  living.     Unknow- 

74 


ONE  VIEW  OF  THE  QUESTION 

ina,  the  common  folk,  or  indeed  the  minds  of  men,  they 
oiYer  strong  drink  of  words,  such  as  they  themselves  use, 
to  empty  bellies;  and  that  wine  breeds  drunkenness  of 
soul.  The  distressful  persons  stand  all  day  long  at  the 
door  of  the  drink-places  to  the  number  of  very  many 
thousands.  The  well-wishing  people  of  small  discern- 
ment give  them  words  or  pitifully  attempt  in  schools  to 
turn  them  into  craftsmen,  weavers,  or  builders,  of  whom 
there  be  more  than  enough.  Yet  they  have  not  the  wis- 
dom to  look  at  the  hands  of  the  taught,  whereon  a  man's 
craft  and  that  of  his  father  is  written  by  God  and  Neces- 
sity. They  believe  that  the  son  of  a  drunkard  shall  drive 
a  straight  chisel  and  the  charioteer  do  plaster-work. 
They  take  no  thought  in  the  dispensation  of  generosity, 
which  is  as  the  closed  fingers  of  a  water-scooping  palm. 
Therefore  the  rough  timber  of  a  very  great  army  drifts 
unhewn  through  the  slime  of  their  streets.  If  the  Gov- 
ernment, which  is  to-day  and  to-morrow  changes,  spent 
on  these  hopeless  ones  some  money  to  clothe  and  equip,  I 
should  not  write  what  I  write.  But  these  people  despise 
the  trade  of  arms,  and  rest  content  with  the  memory  of 
old  battles;  the  women  and  the  talking  men  aiding  them. 
Thou  wilt  say:  'Why  speak  continually  of  women 
and  fools?'  I  answer  by  God,  the  Fashioner  of  the 
Heart,  the  fools  sit  among  the  six  hundred,  and  the  wo- 
men sway  their  councils.  Hast  thou  forgotten  when  the 
order  came  across  the  seas  that  rotted  out  the  armies  of 
the  English  with  us,  so  that  soldiers  fell  sick  by  the  hun- 
dred where  but  ten  had  sickened  before?  That  was  the 
work  of  not  more  than  twenty  of  the  men  and  some  fifty 
of  the  barren  women.  I  have  seen  three  or  four  of  them, 
male  and  female,  and  they  triumph  openly,  in  the  name 
of  their  God,  because  three  regiments  of  the  white  troops 

75 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

are  not.  This  is  to  our  advantage;  because  the  sword 
with  the  rust-spot  breaks  over  the  turban  of  the  enemy. 
But  if  they  thus  tear  their  own  flesh  and  blood  ere  their 
madness  be  risen  to  its  height,  what  will  they  do  when 
the  moon  is  full? 

Seeing  that  power  lay  in  the  hands  of  the  six  hundred, 
and  not  in  the  Viceroy  or  elsewhere,  I  have  throughout 
my  stay  sought  the  shadow  of  those  among  them  who 
talk  most  and  most  extravagantly.  They  lead  the  com- 
mon folk,  and  receive  permission  from  their  good-will. 
It  is  the  desire  of  some  of  these  men — indeed,  of  almost 
as  many  as  caused  the  rotting  of  the  English  army — 
that  our  lands  and  peoples  should  accurately  resemble 
those  of  the  English  upon  this  very  day.  May  God,  the 
Contemner  of  Folly,  forbid!  I  myself  am  accounted  a 
show  among  them,  and  of  us  and  ours  they  know  naught, 
some  calling  me  Hindu  and  others  Rajput,  and  using 
towards  me,  in  ignorance,  slave-talk  and  expressions  of 
great  disrespect.  Some  of  them  are  well-born,  but  the 
greater  part  are  low-born,  coarse-skinned,  waving  their 
arms,  high-voiced,  without  dignity,  slack  in  the  mouth, 
shifty-eyed,  and,  as  I  have  said,  swayed  by  the  wind  of  a 
woman's  cloak. 

Now  this  is  a  tale  but  two  days  old.  There  was  a  com- 
pany at  meat,  and  a  high-voiced  woman  spoke  to  me,  in 
the  face  of  the  men,  of  the  affairs  of  our  womankind.  It 
was  her  ignorance  that  made  each  word  an  edged  insult. 
Remembering  this  I  held  my  peace  till  she  had  spoken  a 
new  law  as  to  the  control  of  our  zenanas,  and  all  who  are 
behind  the  curtains. 

Then  I — 'Hast  thou  ever  felt  the  life  stir  under  thy 
heart  or  laid  a  little  son  between  thy  breasts,  0  most  un- 
happy? '     Thereto  she  hotly,  with  a  haggard  eye — '  No, 

76 


ONE  VIEW  OF  THE  QUESTION 

for  I  am  a  free  woman,  and  no  servant  of  babes.'  Then 
I  softly — '  God  deal  lightly  with  thee,  my  sister,  for  thou 
art  in  heavier  bondage  than  any  slave,  and  the  fuller 
half  of  the  earth  is  hidden  from  thee.  The  first  ten 
years  of  the  life  of  a  man  are  his  mother's,  and  from  the 
dusk  to  the  dawn  surely  the  wife  may  command  the  hus- 
band. Is  it  a  great  thing  to  stand  back  in  the  waking 
hours  while  the  men  go  abroad  unhampered  by  thy 
hands  on  the  bridle-rein?'  Then  she  wondered  that  a 
heathen  should  speak  thus:  yet  she  is  a  woman  honoured 
among  these  men,  and  openly  professes  that  she  hath  no 
profession  of  faith  in  her  mouth.  Read  this  in  the  ear 
of  the  Rao  Sahib,  and  demand  how  it  would  fare  with 
me  if  I  brought  such  a  woman  for  his  use.  It  were  worse 
than  that  yellow  desert-bred  girl  from  Cutch,  who  set 
the  girls  to  fighting  for  her  own  pleasure,  and  slippered 
the  young  prince  across  the  mouth.  Rememberest 
thou? 

In  truth  the  fountain-head  of  power  is  putrid  with 
long  standing  still.  These  men  and  women  would  make 
of  all  India  a  dung-cake,  and  would  fain  leave  the  mark 
of  the  fingers  upon  it.  And  they  have  power  and  the 
control  of  the  revenues,  and  that  is  why  I  am  so  particu- 
lar in  description.  They  have  power  over  all  India.  Of 
what  they  speak  they  understand  nothing,  for  the  low- 
born's  soul  is  bounded  by  his  field,  and  he  grasps  not  the 
connection  of  affairs  from  pole  to  pole.  They  boast 
openly  that  the  Viceroy  and  the  others  are  their  servants. 
When  the  masters  are  mad,  what  shall  the  servants  do? 

Some  hold  that  all  war  is  sin,  and  Death  the  greatest 
fear  under  God.  Others  declare  w^ith  the  Prophet  that 
it  is  evil  to  drink,  to  which  teaching  their  streets  bear 
evident  witness;  and  others  there  are,  specially  thelow- 

77 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

born,  who  aver  that  all  dominion  is  wicked  and  sover- 
eignty of  the  sword  accursed.  These  protested  to  me, 
making,  as  it  were,  an  excuse  that  their  kin  should  hold 
Hindustan,  and  hoping  that  upon  a  day  they  will  depart. 
Knowing  well  the  breed  of  white  man  in  our  borders  I 
would  have  laughed,  but  forbore,  remembering  that 
these  speakers  had  power  in  the  counting  of  heads.  Yet 
others  cry  aloud  against  the  taxation  of  Hindustan  under 
the  Sahib's  rule.  To  this  I  assent,  remembering  the 
yearly  mercy  of  the  Rao  Sahib  when  the  turbans  of  the 
troopers  come  through  the  blighted  corn,  and  the  wo- 
men's anklets  go  into  the  melting-pot.  But  I  am  no 
good  speaker.  That  is  the  duty  of  the  boys  from  Bengal 
• — hill  asses  with  an  eastern  bray — Mahrattas  from  Poona, 
and  the  like.  These,  moving  among  fools,  represent 
themselves  as  the  sons  of  some  one,  being  beggar-taught 
ofTspring  of  grain-dealers,  curriers,  sellers  of  bottles,  and 
money-lenders,  as  thou  knowest.  Now,  we  of  Jagesur 
owe  naught  save  friendship  to  the  English,  who  took  us 
by  the  sword,  and  having  taken  us  let  us  go,  assuring  the 
Rao  Sahib's  succession  for  all  time.  But  these  base- 
born,  having  won  their  learning  through  the  mercy  of 
the  Government,  attired  in  English  clothes,  forswearing 
the  faith  of  their  fathers  for  gain,  spread  rumour  and  de- 
bate against  the  Government,  and  are,  therefore,  very 
dear  to  certain  of  the  six  hundred.  I  have  heard  these 
cattle  speak  as  princes  and  rulers  of  men,  and  I  have 
laughed ;  but  not  altogether. 

Once  it  happened  that  a  son  of  some  grain-bag  sat 
with  me  at  meat,  who  was  arrayed  and  speaking  after  the 
manner  of  the  English.  At  each  mouthful  he  committed 
perjury  against  the  Salt  that  he  had  eaten;  the  men  and 
womea  applauding.     When,  craftily  falsifying,  he  had 

78 


ONE  VIEW  OF  THE  QUESTION 

magnified  oppression  and  invented  untold  wrong,  to- 
gether with  the  desecration  of  his  tun-bellied  gods,  he 
demanded  in  the  name  of  his  people  the  government  of 
all  our  land,  and  turning,  laid  palm  to  my  shoulder,  say- 
ing— 'Here  is  one  who  is  with  us,  albeit  he  professes 
another  faith;  he  will  bear  out  my  words.'  This  he  de- 
livered in  English,  and,  as  it  were,  exhibited  me  to  that 
company.  Preserving  a  smiling  countenance,  I  answered 
in  our  own  tongue— 'Take  away  that  hand,  man  with- 
out a  father,  or  the  folly  of  these  folk  shall  not  save  thee, 
nor  my  silence  guard  thy  reputation.  Sit  off,  herd.' 
And  in  their  speech  I  said — 'He  speaks  truth.  When 
the  favour  and  wisdom  of  the  English  allows  us  yet  a 
little  larger  share  in  the  burden  and  the  reward,  the  Mus- 
sulman will  deal  with  the  Hindu.'  He  alone  saw  what 
was  in  my  heart.  I  was  merciful  towards  him  because 
he  was  accomplishing  our  desires;  but  remember  that 
his  father  is  one  Durga  Charan  Laha,  in  Calcutta.  Lay 
thy  hand  upon  his  shoulder  if  ever  chance  sends.  It  is 
not  good  that  bottle-dealers  and  auctioneers  should  paw 
the  sons  of  princes.  I  walk  abroad  sometimes  with  the 
man  that  all  this  world  may  know  the  Hindu  and  Mus- 
sulman are  one,  but  when  we  come  to  the  unfrequented 
streets  I  bid  him  walk  behind  me,  and  that  is  sufficient 
honour. 

And  why  did  I  eat  dirt? 

Thus,  my  brother,  it  seems  to  my  heart,  which  has 
almost  burst  in  the  consideration  of  these  matters.  The 
Bengalis  and  the  beggar-taught  boys  know  well  that  the 
Sahib's  power  to  govern  comes  neither  from  the  Viceroy 
nor  the  head  of  the  army,  but  from  the  hands  of  the  six 
hundred  in  this  town,  and  peculiarly  those  who  talk 
most.     They  will  therefore  yearly  address  themselves 

79 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

more  and  more  to  that  protection,  and  working  on  the 
green-sickness  of  the  land,  as  has  ever  been  their  custom, 
will  in  time  cause,  through  the  perpetually  instigated 
interference  of  the  six  hundred,  the  hand  of  the  Indian 
Government  to  become  inoperative,  so  that  no  measure 
nor  order  may  be  carried  through  without  clamour  and 
argument  on  their  part;  for  that  is  the  delight  of  the 
English  at  this  hour.  Have  I  overset  the  bounds  of 
possibility?  No.  Even  thou  must  have  heard  that 
one  of  the  six  hundred,  having  neither  knowledge,  fear, 
nor  reverence  before  his  eyes,  has  made  in  sport  a  new 
and  a  written  scheme  for  the  government  of  Bengal,  and 
openly  shows  it  abroad  as  a  king  might  read  his  crown- 
ing proclamation.  And  this  man,  meddling  in  affairs  of 
State,  speaks  in  the  council  for  an  assemblage  of  leather- 
dressers,  makers  of  boots  and  harness,  and  openly  glories 
in  that  he  has  no  God.  Has  either  minister  of  the  Em- 
press, Empress,  Viceroy,  or  any  other  raised  a  voice 
against  this  leather-man?  Is  not  his  power  therefore 
to  be  sought,  and  that  of  his  like-thinkers  with  it?  Thou 
seest. 

The  telegraph  is  the  servant  of  the  six  hundred,  and 
all  the  Sahibs  in  India,  omitting  not  one,  are  the  servants 
of  the  telegraph.  Yearly,  too,  thou  knowest,  the  beggar- 
taught  will  hold  that  which  they  call  their  Congress, 
first  at  one  place  and  then  at  another,  leavening  Hindu- 
stan with  rumour,  echoing  the  talk  among  the  low-born 
people  here,  and  demanding  that  they,  like  the  six  hun- 
dred, control  the  revenues.  And  they  will  bring  every 
point  and  letter  over  the  heads  of  the  Governors  and  the 
Lieutenant-Governors,  and  whoever  hold  authority,  and 
cast  it  clamorously  at  the  feet  of  the  six  hundred  here; 
and  certain  of  those  word-confounders  and  the  barren 

80 


ONE  VIEW  OF  THE  QUESTION 

women  will  assent  to  their  demands,  and  others  will 
weary  of  disagreement.  Thus  fresh  confusion  will  be 
thrown  inlo  the  councils  of  the  Empress  even  as  the  is- 
land near  by  is  helped  and  comforted  into  the  smothered 
war  of  which  I  have  written.  Then  yearly,  as  they  have 
begun  and  we  have  seen,  the  low-born  men  of  the  six 
hundred  anxious  for  honour  will  embark  for  our  land, 
and,  stay ing  a  little  while,  will  gather  round  them  and  fawn 
before  the  beggar-taught,  and  these  departing  from  their 
side  will  assuredly  inform  the  peasants,  and  the  fighting 
men  for  whom  there  is  no  employ,  that  there  is  a  change 
toward  and  a  coming  of  help  from  over  the  seas.  That 
rumour  will  not  grow  smaller  in  the  spreading.  And, 
most  of  all,  the  Congress,  when  it  is  not  under  the  eye  of 
the  six  hundred — who,  though  they  foment  dissension 
and  death,  pretend  great  reverence  for  the  law  which  is 
no  law — will,  stepping  aside,  deliver  uneasy  words  to 
the  peasants,  speaking,  as  it  has  done  already,  of  the  re- 
mission of  taxation,  and  promising  a  new  rule.  That  is 
to  our  advantage,  but  the  flower  of  danger  is  in  the  seed 
of  it.  Thou  knowest  what  evil  a  rumour  may  do ;  though 
in  the  Black  Year  when  thou  and  I  were  young  our  stand- 
ing to  the  English  brought  gain  to  Jagesur  and  enlarged 
our  borders,  for  the  Government  gave  us  land  on  both 
sides.  Of  the  Congress  itself  nothing  is  to  be  feared 
that  ten  troopers  could  not  remove;  but  if  its  words  too 
soon  perturb  the  minds  of  those  waiting  or  of  princes  in 
idleness,  a  flame  may  come  before  the  time,  and  since 
there  are  now  many  white  hands  to  quench  it,  all  will  re- 
turn to  the  former  condition.  If  the  flame  be  kept  under, 
we  need  have  no  fear,  because,  sweating  and  panting,  the 
one  trampling  on  the  other,  the  white  people  here  are 
digging  their  own  graves.     The  hand  of  the  Viceroy  will 

61 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

be  tied,  the  hearts  of  the  Sahibs  will  be  downcast,  and  all 
eyes  will  turn  to  England  disregarding  any  orders. 
Meantime,  keeping  tally  on  the  sword-hilt  against  the 
hour  when  the  score  must  be  made  smooth  by  the  blade, 
it  is  well  for  us  to  assist  and  greatly  befriend  the  Bengali 
that  he  may  get  control  of  the  revenues  and  the  posts. 
We  must  even  write  to  England  that  we  be  of  one  blood 
with  the  school-men.  It  is  not  long  to  wait ;  by  my  head 
it  is  not  long!  This  people  are  like  the  great  king  Fe- 
risht,  who,  eaten  with  the  scabs  of  long  idleness,  plucked 
off  his  crown  and  danced  naked  among  the  dunghills. 
But  I  have  not  forgotten  the  profitable  end  of  that  tale. 
The  vizier  set  him  upon  a  horse  and  led  him  into  battle. 
Presently  his  health  returned  and  he  caused  to  be  en- 
graven on  the  crown : — 

'Though  I  was  cast  away  by  the  king. 
Yet,  through  God,  I  returned  and  he  added  to  my  bril- 
liance 
Two  great  rubies  (Balkh  and  Iran).' 

If  this  people  be  purged  and  bled  out  by  battle,  their 
sickness  may  go  and  their  eyes  be  cleared  to  the  necessi- 
ties of  things.  But  they  are  now  far  gone  in  rottenness. 
Even  the  stallion,  too  long  heel-roped,  forgets  how  to 
fight;  and  these  men  are  mules.  I  do  not  lie  when  I  say 
that  unless  they  are  bled  and  taught  with  the  whip,  they 
will  hear  and  obey  all  that  is  said  by  the  Congress  and 
the  black  men  here,  hoping  to  turn  our  land  into  their 
own  orderless  Jehannum.  For  the  men  of  the  six  hun- 
dred, being  chiefly  low-born  and  unused  to  authority, 
desire  much  to  exercise  rule,  extending  their  arms  to  the 
sun  and  moon,  and  shouting  very  greatly  in  order  to 

82 


ONE  VIEW  OF  THE  QUESTION 

hear  the  echo  of  their  voices,  each  one  saying  some  new 
strange  thing,  and  parting  the  goods  and  honour  of 
others  among  the  rapacious,  that  he  may  obtain  the  fa- 
vour of  the  common  folk.   And  all  this  is  to  our  advantage. 

Therefore  write,  that  they  may  read,  of  gratitude  and 
of  love  and  the  law.  I  myself,  when  I  return,  will  show 
how  the  dish  should  be  dressed  to  take  the  taste  here; 
for  it  is  here  that  we  must  come.  Cause  to  be  estab- 
lished in  Jagesur  a  newspaper,  and  fill  it  with  transla- 
tions of  their  papers.  A  beggar-taught  may  be  brought 
from  Calcutta  for  thirty  rupees  a  month,  and  if  he  writes 
in  Gurmukhi  our  people  cannot  read.  Create,  further, 
councils  other  than  the  panchayats  of  headmen,  village 
by  village  and  district  by  district,  instructing  them  be- 
forehand what  to  say  according  to  the  order  of  the  Rao. 
Print  all  these  things  in  a  book  in  English,  and  send  it 
to  this  place,  and  to  every  man  of  the  six  hundred.  Bid 
the  beggar-taught  write  in  front  of  all  that  Jagesur  fol- 
lows fast  on  the  English  plan.  If  thou  squeezest  the 
Hindu  shrine  at  Theegkot,  and  it  is  ripe,  remit  the  head- 
tax,  and  perhaps  the  marriage-tax,  with  great  publicity. 
But  above  all  things  keep  the  troops  ready,  and  in  good 
pay,  even  though  we  glean  the  stubble  with  the  wheat 
and  stint  the  Rao  Sahib's  women.  All  must  go  softly. 
Protest  thou  thy  love  for  the  voice  of  the  common  people 
in  all  things,  and  affect  to  despise  the  troops.  That 
shall  be  taken  for  a  witness  in  this  land.  The  headship 
of  the  troops  must  be  mine.  See  that  Bahadur  Shah's 
wits  go  wandering  over  the  wine,  but  do  not  send  him 
to  God.     I  am  an  old  man,  but  I  may  yet  live  to  lead. 

If  this  people  be  not  bled  out  and  regain  strength,  we, 
watching  how  the  tide  runs,  when  we  see  that  the  shadow 
of  their  hand  is  all  but  lifted  from  Hindustan,  must 

83 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

bid  the  Bengali  demand  the  removal  of  the  residue  or 
set  going  an  uneasiness  to  that  end.  We  must  have  a 
care  neither  to  hurt  the  life  of  the  Englishmen  nor  the 
honour  of  their  women,  for  in  that  case  six  times  the  six 
hundred  here  could  not  hold  those  who  remain  from 
making  the  land  swim.  We  must  care  that  they  are 
not  mobbed  by  the  Bengalis,  but  honourably  escorted, 
while  the  land  is  held  down  with  the  threat  of  the  sword 
if  a  hair  of  their  heads  fall.  Thus  we  shall  gain  a  good 
name,  and  when  rebellion  is  unaccompanied  by  blood- 
shed, as  has  lately  befallen  in  a  far  countr\',  the  English, 
disregarding  honour,  call  it  by  a  new  name:  even  one 
who  has  been  a  minister  of  the  Empress,  but  is  now  at 
war  against  the  law,  praises  it  openly  before  the  common 
folk.  So  greatly  are  they  changed  since  the  days  of 
Nikhal  Seyn!^  And  then,  if  all  go  well  and  the  Sahibs 
who  through  continual  checking  and  browbeating  will 
have  grown  sick  at  heart,  see  themselves  abandoned  by 
their  kin — for  this  people  have  allowed  their  greatest  to 
die  on  dr^^  sand  through  delay  and  fear  of  expense — we 
may  go  forward.  This  people  are  swayed  by  names. 
A  new  name,  therefore,  must  be  given  to  the  rule  of  Hin- 
dustan (and  that  the  Bengalis  may  settle  among  them- 
selves), and  there  will  be  many  writings  and  oaths  oi 
love,  such  as  the  little  island  over  seas  makes  when  it 
would  fight  more  bitterly;  and  after  that  the  residue  are 
diminished  the  hour  comes,  and  we  must  strike  so  that 
the  sword  is  never  any  more  questioned. 

By  the  favour  of  God  and  the  conservation  of  the  Sa- 
hibs these  many  years,  Hindustan  contains  very  much 
plunder,  which  we  can  in  no  way  eat  hurriedly.     There 

^Nicholson,  a  gentleman  once  of  some  notoriety  in  India. 

84 


ONE  VIEW  OF  THE  QUESTION 

will  be  to  our  hand  the  scaffolding  of  the  house  of  State, 
for  the  Bengali  shall  continue  to  do  our  work,  and  must 
account  to  us  for  the  revenue,  and  learn  his  seat  in  the 
order  of  things.  Whether  the  Hindu  kings  of  the  west 
will  break  in  to  share  that  spoil  before  we  have  swept  it 
altogether,  thou  knowest  better  than  I ;  but  be  certain 
that,  then,  strong  hands  will  seek  their  own  thrones,  and 
it  may  be  that  the  days  of  the  king  of  Delhi  will  return 
if  we  only,  curbing  our  desires,  pay  due  obedience  to  the 
outward  appearances  and  the  names.  Thou  remem- 
berest  the  old  song — 

'Hadst  thou  not  called  it  Love,  I*had  said  it  were  a  drawn 

sword, 
But  since  thou  hast  spoken,  I  believe  and — I  die.' 

It  is  in  my  heart  that  there  will  remain  in  our  land  a 
few  Sahibs  undesirous  of  returning  to  England.  These 
we  must  cherish  and  protect,  that  by  their  skill  and  cun- 
ning we  may  hold  together  and  preserve  unity  in  time 
of  war.  The  Hindu  kings  will  never  trust  a  Sahib  in  the 
core  of  their  counsels.  I  say  again  that  if  we  of  the  Faith 
confide  in  them,  we  shall  trample  upon  our  enemies. 

Is  all  this  a  dream  to  thee,  gray  fox  of  my  mother's 
bearing?  I  have  written  of  what  I  have  seen  and  heard, 
but  from  the  same  clay  two  men  will  never  fashion  plat- 
ters alike,  nor  from  the  same  facts  draw  equal  conclu- 
sions. Once  more,  there  is  a  green-sickness  upon  all  the 
people  of  this  country.  They  eat  dirt  even  now  to  stay 
their  cravings.  Honour  and  stability  have  departed 
from  their  councils,  and  the  knife  of  dissension  has 
brought  down  upon  their  heads  the  flapping  tent-flies  of 
confusion.     The  Empress  is  old.     They  speak  disre- 

85 


MANY   INVENTIONS 

spectfuUy  of  her  and  hers  in  the  street.  They  despise 
the  sword,  and  believe  that  the  tongue  and  the  pen  sway 
all.  The  measure  of  their  ignorance  and  their  soft  be- 
lief is  greater  than  the  measure  of  the  wisdom  of  Solomon, 
the  son  of  David.  All  these  things  I  have  seen  whom 
they  regard  as  a  wild  beast  and  a  spectacle.  By  God 
the  Enlightener  of  Intelligence,  if  the  Sahibs  in  India 
could  breed  sons  who  lived  so  that  their  houses  might  be 
established,  I  would  almost  fling  my  sword  at  the  Vice- 
roy's feet,  saying:  'Let  us  here  fight  for  a  kingdom  to- 
gether, thine  and  mine,  disregarding  the  babble  across 
the  water.  Write  a  letter  to  England,  saying  that  we 
love  them,  but  would  depart  from  their  camps  and  make 
all  clean  under  a  new  crown.'  But  the  Sahibs  die  out  at 
the  third  generation  in  our  land,  and  it  may  be  that  I 
dream  dreams.  Yet  not  altogether.  Until  a  white  ca- 
lamity of  steel  and  bloodshed,  the  bearing  of  burdens, 
the  trembling  for  life,  and  the  hot  rage  of  insult — for 
pestilence  would  unman  them  if  eyes  not  unused  to  men 
see  clear — befall  this  people,  our  path  is  safe.  They  are 
sick.  The  Fountain  of  Power  is  a  gutter  which  all  may 
defile;  and  the  voices  of  the  men  are  overborne  by  the 
squealings  of  mules  and  the  whinnying  of  barren  mares. 
If  through  adversity  they  become  wise,  then,  my  brother, 
strike  with  and  for  them,  and  later,  when  thou  and  I  are 
dead,  and  the  disease  grows  up  again  (the  young  men 
bred  in  the  school  of  fear  and  trembling  and  word-con- 
founding have  yet  to  live  out  their  appointed  span), 
those  who  have  fought  on  the  side  of  the  English  may 
ask  and  receive  what  they  choose.  At  present  seek 
quietly  to  confuse,  and  delay,  and  evade,  and  make  of 
no  effect.  In  this  business  four  score  of  the  six  hundred 
are  our  true  helpers. 

86 


ONE  VIEW  OE  THE  QUESTION 

Now  the  pen,  and  the  ink,  and  the  hand  weary  to- 
gether, as  thy  eyes  will  weary  in  this  reading.  Be  it 
known  to  my  house  that  I  return  soon,  but  do  not  speak 
of  the  hour.  Letters  without  name  have  come  to  me 
touching  my  honour.  The  honour  of  my  house  is  thine. 
If  they  be,  as  I  Ijclieve,  the  work  of  a  dismissed  groom, 
Futteh  Lai,  that  ran  at  the  tail  of  my  wine-coloured 
Kathiawar  staUion,  his  village  is  beyond  Manglot;  look 
to  it  that  his  tongue  no  longer  lengthens  itself  on  the 
names  of  those  who  are  mine.  If  it  be  otherwise,  put  a 
guard  upon  my  house  till  I  come,  and  especially  see  that 
no  sellers  of  jewellery,  astrologers,  or  mid  wives  have  en- 
trance to  the  women's  rooms.  We  rise  by  our  slaves, 
and  by  our  slaves  we  fall,  as  it  was  said.  To  all  who  are 
of  my  remembrance  I  bring  gifts  according  to  their 
worth.  I  have  written  twice  of  the  gift  that  I  would 
cause  to  be  given  to  Bahadur  Shah. 

The  blessing  of  God  and  his  Prophet  on  thee  and  thine 
till  the  end  which  is  appointed.  Give  me  felicity  by  in- 
forming me  of  the  state  of  thy  health.  My  head  is  at 
the  Rao  Sahib's  feet;  my  sword  is  at  his  left  side,  a  little 
above  my  heart.     Follows  my  seal. 


87 


'THE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

(1891) 

'  Or  ever  the  knightly  years  were  gone 

With  the  old  world  to  the  grave, 
I  was  a  king  in  Babylon 
And  you  were  a  Christian  slave.' 

W.  E.  Henley. 

HIS  name  was  Charlie  Mears;  he  was  the  only  son 
of  his  mother  who  was  a  widow,  and  he  lived  in 
the  north  of  London,  coming  into  the  City  every 
day  to  work  in  a  bank.  He  was  twenty  years  old  and 
was  full  of  aspirations.  I  met  him  in  a  public  billiard- 
saloon  where  the  marker  called  him  by  his  first  name, 
and  he  called  the  marker  'Bullseye.'  Charlie  explained 
a  little  nervously,  that  he  had  only  come  to  the  place  to 
look  on,  and  since  looking  on  at  games  of  skill  is  not  a 
cheap  amusement  for  the  young,  I  suggested  that  Charlie 
should  go  back  to  his  mother. 

That  was  our  first  step  towards  better  acquaintance. 
He  would  call  on  me  sometimes  in  the  evenings  instead 
of  running  about  London  with  his  fellow-clerks ;  and  be- 
fore long,  speaking  of  himself  as  a  young  man  must,  he 
told  me  of  his  aspirations,  which  were  all  literary.  He 
desired  to  make  himself  an  undying  name  chiefly  through 
verse,  though  he  was  not  above  sending  stories  of  love 

88 


*TPIE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

and  death  to  the  penny-in-the-slot  journals.  It  was  my 
fate  to  sit  still  while  Charlie  read  me  poems  of  many 
hundred  lines,  and  bulky  fragments  of  plays  that  would 
surely  shake  the  world.  My  reward  was  his  unreserved 
confidence,  and  the  self-revelations  and  troubles  of  a 
young  man  are  almost  as  holy  as  those  of  a  maiden. 
Charlie  had  never  fallen  in  love,  but  was  anxious  to  do 
so  on  the  first  opportunity;  he  believed  in  all  things  good 
and  all  things  honourable,  but  at  the  same  time,  was 
curiously  careful  to  let  me  see  that  he  knew  his  way 
about  the  world  as  befitted  a  bank-clerk  on  twenty-five 
shillings  a  week.  He  rhymed  'dove'  with  'love'  and 
'moon'  with  'June,'  and  devoutly  believed  that  they 
had  never  so  been  rhymed  before.  The  long  lame  gaps 
in  his  plays  he  filled  up  with  hasty  words  of  apology  and 
description,  and  swept  on,  seeing  all  that  he  intended  to 
do  so  clearly  that  he  esteemed  it  already  done,  and  turned 
to  me  for  applause. 

I  fancy  that  his  mother  did  not  encourage  his  aspira- 
tions; and  I  know  that  his  writing-table  at  home  was  the 
edge  of  his  washstand.  This  he  told  me  almost  at  the 
outset  of  our  acquaintance — when  he  was  ravaging  my 
bookshelves,  and  a  little  before  I  was  implored  to  speak 
the  truth  as  to  his  chances  of  'writing  something  really 
great,  you  know.'  Maybe  I  encouraged  him  too  much, 
for,  one  night,  he  called  on  me,  his  eyes  flaming  with  ex- 
citement, and  said  breathlessly : 

*  Do  you  mind — can  you  let  me  stay  here  and  write  all 
this  evening?  I  won't  interrupt  you,  I  won't  really. 
There's  no  place  for  me  to  write  in  at  my  mother's.' 

'What's  the  trouble?'  I  said,  knowing  well  what  that 
trouble  was. 

*  I've  a  notion  in  my  head  that  would  make  the  most 

89 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

splendid  story  that  was  ever  written.     Do  let  me  write 
it  out  here.     It's  such  a  notion ! ' 

There  was  no  resisting  the  appeal.  I  set  him  a  table; 
he  hardly  thanked  me,  but  plunged  into  his  work  at 
once.  For  half  an  hour  the  pen  scratched  without  stop- 
ping. Then  Charlie  sighed  and  tugged  his  hair.  The 
scratching  grew  slower,  there  were  more  erasures,  and  at 
last  ceased.  The  finest  story  in  the  world  would  not 
come  forth. 

'It  looks  such  awful  rot  now,'  he  said  mournfully. 
'And  yet  it  seemed  so  good  when  I  was  thinking  about 
it.     What's  wrong?' 

I  could  not  dishearten  him  by  saying  the  truth.  So  I 
answered:  'Perhaps  you  don't  feel  in  the  mood  for 
writing.' 

'Yes  I  do — except  when  I  look  at  this  stuff.     Ugh!' 

'Read  me  what  you've  done,'  I  said. 

He  read,  and  it  was  wondrous  bad,  and  he  paused  at 
all  the  specially  turgid  sentences,  expecting  a  little  ap- 
proval; for  he  was  proud  of  those  sentences,  as  I  knew 
he  would  be. 

'It  needs  compression,'  I  suggested  cautiously. 

'I  hate  cutting  my  things  down.  I  don't  think  you 
could  alter  a  word  here  without  spoiling  the  sense.  It 
reads  better  aloud  than  when  I  was  writing  it.' 

'Charlie,  you're  suffering  from  an  alarming  disease 
afflicting  a  numerous  class.  Put  the  thing  by,  and 
tackle  it  again  in  a  week.' 

'  I  want  to  do  it  at  once.     What  do  you  think  of  it? ' 

'How  can  I  judge  from  a  half- writ  ten  tale?  Tell  me 
the  story  as  it  lies  in  your  head.' 

Charlie  told,  and  in  the  telling  there  was  everything 
that  his  ignorance  had  so  carefully  prevented  from  es- 

90 


'THE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

caping  into  the  written  word.  I  looked  at  him,  wonder- 
ing whether  it  were  possible  that  he  did  not  know  the 
originality,  the  power  of  the  notion  that  had  come  in  his 
way?  It  was  distinctly  a  Notion  among  notions.  Men 
had  been  puffed  up  with  pride  by  ideas  not  a  tithe  as  ex- 
cellent and  practicable.  But  Charlie  babbled  on  serenely, 
interrupting  the  current  of  pure  fancy  with  samples  of 
horrible  sentences  that  he  purposed  to  use.  I  heard 
him  out  to  the  end.  It  would  be  folly  to  allow  his  thought 
to  remain  in  his  own  inept  hands,  when  I  could  do  so 
much  with  it.  Not  all  that  could  be  done  indeed;  but, 
oh  so  much! 

'  What  do  you  think? '  he  said  at  last.  '  I  fancy  I  shall 
call  it  "The  Story  of  a  Ship."  ' 

'  I  think  the  idea's  pretty  good;  but  you  won't  be  able 
to  handle  it  for  ever  so  long.     Now  I — ' 

'  Would  it  be  of  any  use  to  you?  W^ould  you  care  to 
take  it?     I  should  be  proud,'  said  Charlie  promptly. 

There  are  few  things  sweeter  in  this  world  than  the 
guileless,  hot-headed,  intemperate,  open  admiration  of  a 
junior.  Even  a  woman  in  her  blindest  devotion  does 
not  fall  into  the  gait  of  the  man  she  adores,  tilt  her  bon- 
net to  the  angle  at  which  he  wears  his  hat,  or  interlard 
her  speech  with  his  pet  oaths.  And  Charlie  did  all  these 
things.  Still  it  was  necessary  to  salve  my  conscience 
before  I  possessed  myself  of  Charlie's  thoughts. 

'Let's  make  a  bargain.  I'll  give  you  a  fiver  for  the 
notion,'  I  said. 

Charlie  became  a  bank-clerk  at  once. 

'  Oh,  that's  impossible.  Between  two  pals,  you  know, 
if  I  may  call  you  so,  and  speaking  as  a  man  of  the  world, 
I  couldn't.  Take  the  notion  if  it's  any  use  to  you. 
I've  heaps  more.' 

91 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

He  had — none  knew  this  better  than  I — but  they  were 
the  notions  of  other  men. 

'  Look  at  it  as  a  matter  of  business — between  men  of 
the  world,'  I  returned.  'Five  pounds  will  buy  you  any 
number  of  poetry-books.  Business  is  business,  and  you 
may  be  sure  I  shouldn't  give  that  price  unless — ' 

'  Oh,  if  you  put  it  that  way,'  said  Charlie,  visibly  moved 
by  the  thought  of  the  books.  The  bargain  was  clinched 
with  an  agreement  that  he  should  at  unstated  intervals 
come  to  me  with  all  the  notions  that  he  possessed,  should 
have  a  table  of  his  own  to  write  at,  and  unquestioned 
right  to  inflict  upon  me  all  his  poems  and  fragments  of 
poems.  Then  I  said,  'Now  tell  me  how  you  came  by 
this  idea.' 

'  It  came  by  itself.'     Charlie's  eyes  opened  a  little. 

'Yes,  but  you  told  me  a  great  deal  about  the  hero  that 
you  must  have  read  before  somewhere.' 

'  I  haven't  any  time  for  reading,  except  when  you  let 
me  sit  here,  and  on  Sundays  I'm  on  my  bicycle  or  down 
the  river  all  day.  There's  nothing  wrong  about  the  hero, 
is  there? ' 

'Tell  me  again  and  I  shall  understand  clearly.  You 
say  that  your  hero  went  pirating.     How  did  he  live? ' 

'He  was  on  the  lower  deck  of  this  ship-thing  that  I  was 
telling  you  about.' 

'What  sort  of  ship?' 

'  It  was  the  kind  rowed  with  oars,  and  the  sea  spurts 
through  the  oar-holes,  and  the  men  row  sitting  up  to  their 
knees  in  water.  Then  there's  a  bench  running  down  be- 
tween the  two  lines  of  oars,  and  an  overseer  with  a  whip 
walks  up  and  down  the  bench  to  make  the  men  work.' 

'How  do  you  know  that?' 

'It's  in  the  tale.     There's  a  rope  running  overhead, 

92 


*TIIE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

looped  to  the  upper  deck,  for  the  overseer  to  catch  hold 
of  when  the  ship  rolls.  When  the  overseer  misses  the 
rope  once  and  falls  among  the  rowers,  remember  the 
hero  laughs  at  him  and  gets  licked  for  it.  He's  chained 
to  his  oar,  of  course — the  hero.' 

'  How  is  he  chained? ' 

'  With  an  iron  band  round  his  waist  fixed  to  the  bench 
he  sits  on,  and  a  sort  of  handcuff  on  his  left  wrist  chain- 
ing him  to  the  oar.  He's  on  the  lower  deck  where  the 
worst  men  are  sent,  and  the  only  light  comes  from  the 
hatchways  and  through  the  oar-holes.  Can't  you  im- 
agine the  sunlight  just  squeezing  through  betw^cen  the 
handle  and  the  hole  and  wobbling  about  as  the  ship 
moves?' 

'  I  can,  but  I  can't  imagine  your  imagining  it.' 

'How  could  it  be  any  other  way?  Now  you  listen  to 
me.  The  long  oars  on  the  upper  deck  are  managed  by 
four  men  to  each  bench,  the  lower  ones  by  three,  and  the 
lowest  of  all  by  two.  Remember  it's  quite  dark  on  the 
lowest  deck  and  all  the  men  there  go  mad.  When  a  man 
dies  at  his  oar  on  that  deck  he  isn't  thrown  overboard, 
but  cut  up  in  his  chains  and  stuffed  through  the  oar-hole 
in  little  pieces.' 

'Why?'  I  demanded  amazed,  not  so  much  at  the  infor- 
mation as  the  tone  of  command  in  which  it  was  flung  out. 

'To  save  trouble  and  to  frighten  the  others.  It  needs 
two  overseers  to  drag  a  man's  body  up  to  the  top  deck; 
and  if  the  men  at  the  lower-deck  oars  were  left  alone,  of 
course  they'd  stop  rowing  and  try  to  pull  up  the  benches 
by  all  standing  up  together  in  their  chains.' 

'You've  a  most  provident  imagination.  Where  have 
you  been  reading  about  galleys  and  galley-slaves? ' 

'  Nowhere  that  I  remember.     I  row  a  little  when  I  get 

93 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

the  chance.  But,  perhaps,  if  you  say  so,  I  may  have 
read  something.' 

He  went  away  shortly  afterwards  to  deal  with  book- 
sellers, and  I  wondered  how  a  bank-clerk  aged  twenty 
could  put  into  my  hands  with  a  profligate  abundance  of 
detail,  all  given  with  absolute  assurance,  the  story  of  ex- 
travagant and  blood-thirsty  adventure,  riot,  piracy,  and 
death  in  unnamed  seas.  He  had  led  his  hero  a  desper- 
ate dance  through  revolt  against  the  overseers,  to  com- 
mand of  a  ship  of  his  own,  and  at  last  to  the  establishment 
of  a  kingdom  on  an  island  'somewhere  in  the  sea,  you 
know';  and,  delighted  with  my  paltry  five  pounds,  had 
gone  out  to  buy  the  notions  of  other  men,  that  these 
might  teach  him  how  to  write.  I  had  the  consolation  of 
knowing  that  this  notion  was  mine  by  right  of  purchase, 
and  I  thought  that  I  could  make  something  of  it. 

When  next  he  came  to  me  he  was  drunk — royally 
drunk  on  many  poets  for  the  first  time  revealed  to  him. 
His  pupils  were  dilated,  his  words  tumbled  over  each 
other,  and  he  wrapped  himself  in  quotations — as  a  beg- 
gar would  enfold  himself  in  the  purple  of  emperors. 
Most  of  all  was  he  drunk  with  Longfellow. 

'Isn't  it  splendid?  Isn't  it  superb?'  he  cried,  after 
hasty  greetings.     '  Listen  to  this — 

'  *' Wouldst  thou," — so  the  helmsman  answered, 
*'  Know  the  secret  of  the  sea? 
Only  those  who  brave  its  dangers 
Comprehend  its  mystery." 


By  gum! 


Only  those  who  brave  its  dangers 
Comprehend  its  mystery."  ' 
94 


'THE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

he  repeated  twenty  times,  walking  up  and  down  the 
room  and  forgetting  me.  '  But  I  can  understand  it  too,' 
he  said  to  himself.  '  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you  for 
that  fiver.     And  this;  Hsten — 

'  "  I  remember  the  black  wharves  and  the  slips 
And  the  sea-tides  tossing  free; 
And  the  Spanish  sailors  with  bearded  lips, 
And  the  beauty  and  mystery  of  the  ships, 
And  the  magic  of  the  sea." 

I  haven't  braved  any  dangers,  but  I  feel  as  if  I  knew  all 
about  it.' 

'You  certainly  seem  to  have  a  grip  of  the  sea.  Have 
you  ever  seen  it? ' 

'When  I  was  a  little  chap  I  went  to  Brighton  once;  we 
used  to  live  in  Coventry,  though,  before  we  came  to 
London.     I  never  saw  it, 

'  "When  descends  on  the  Atlantic 
The  gigantic 
Storm-wind  of  the  Equinox."  ' 

He  shook  me  by  the  shoulder  to  make  me  understand 
the  passion  that  was  shaking  himself. 

'When. that  storm  comes,'  he  continued,  'I  think  that 
all  the  oars  in  the  ship  that  I  was  talking  about  get 
broken,  and  the  rowers  have  their  chests  smashed  in  by 
the  oar-heads  bucking.  By  the  way,  have  you  done 
anything  with  that  notion  of  mine  yet? ' 

'No.  I  was  waiting  to  hear  more  of  it  from  you.  Tell 
me  how  in  the  world  you're  so  certain  about  the  fittings 
of  the  ship.     You  know  nothing  of  ships.' 

*  I  don't  know.     It's  as  real  as  anything  to  me  until  I 

95 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

try  to  write  it  down.  I  was  thinking  about  it  only  last 
night  in  bed,  after  you  had  lent  me  "Treasure  Island"; 
and  I  made  up  a  whole  lot  of  new  things  to  go  into  the 
story.' 

'What  sort  of  things?' 

'About  the  food  the  men  ate;  rotten  figs  and  black 
beans  and  wine  in  a  skin  bag,  passed  from  bench  to 
bench.' 

'  Was  the  ship  built  so  long  ago  as  that? ' 

'As  what?  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  long  ago  or 
not.  It's  only  a  notion,  but  sometimes  it  seems  just  as 
real  as  if  it  was  true.  Do  I  bother  you  with  talking 
about  it?' 

'Not  in  the  least.     Did  you  make  up  anything  else?' 

'Yes,  but  it's  nonsense.'     Charlie  flushed  a  little. 

'Never  mind;  let's  hear  about  it.' 

'  Well,  I  was  thinking  over  the  story,  and  after  awhile 
I  got  out  of  bed  and  wrote  down  on  a  piece  of  paper  the 
sort  of  stuff  the  men  might  be  supposed  to  scratch  on 
their  oars  with  the  edges  of  their  handcuffs.  It  seemed 
to  make  the  thing  more  life-like.  It  is  so  real  to  me, 
y'know.' 

'  Have  you  the  paper  on  you? ' 

'Ye — es,  but  what's  the  use  of  showing  it?  It's  only 
a  lot  of  scratches.  All  the  same,  we  might  have  'em 
reproduced  in  the  book  on  the  front  page.' 

'  I'll  attend  to  those  details.  Show  me  what  your  men 
wrote.' 

He  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  sheet  of  notepaper,  with 
a  single  line  of  scratches  upon  it,  and  I  put  this  carefully 
away. 

*  What  is  it  supposed  to  mean  in  English?'  I  said. 

*0h,  I  don't  know.     I  mean  it  to  mean  "I'm  beastly 

96 


'THE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

tired."  It's  great  nonsense,'  he  repeated,  'but  all  those 
men  in  the  ship  seem  as  real  as  real  people  to  me.  Do 
do  something  to  the  notion  soon ;  I  should  like  to  see  it 
written  and  printed.' 

'But  all  you've  told  me  would  make  a  long  book.' 

'Make  it  then.  You've  only  to  sit  down  and  write  it 
out.' 

'  Give  me  a  little  time.     Have  you  any  more  notions? ' 

'  Not  just  now.  I'm  reading  all  the  books  I've  bought. 
They're  splendid.' 

When  he  had  left  I  looked  at  the  sheet  of  notepaper 
with  the  inscription  upon  it.  Then  I  took  my  head  ten- 
derly between  both  hands,  to  make  certain  that  it  was 
not  coming  off  or  turning  round.  Then  .  .  .  but 
there  seemed  to  be  no  interval  between  quitting  my 
rooms  and  finding  myself  arguing  with  a  policeman  out- 
side a  door  marked  'Private'  in  a  corridor  of  the  British 
Museum.  All  I  demanded,  as  politely  as  possible,  was 
'the  Greek  antiquity  man.'  The  policeman  knew  no- 
thing except  the  rules  of  the  Museum,  and  it  became 
necessary  to  forage  through  all  the  houses  and  offices  in- 
side the  gates.  An  elderly  gentleman  called  away  from 
hib  lunch  put  an  end  to  my  search  by  holding  the  note- 
paper  between  finger  and  thumb  and  sniffing  at  it  scorn- 
fully. 

'What  does  this  mean?  H'mm,'  said  he.  'So  far  as 
I  can  ascertain  it  is  an  attempt  to  write  extremely  cor- 
rupt Greek  on  the  part' — here  he  glared  at  me  with  in- 
tention— 'of  an  extremely  illiterate — ah — person.'  He 
read  slowly  from  the  paper, '  Pollock,  Erckmann,  Tauch- 
nitz,  Henniker' — four  names  familiar  to  me. 

'  Can  you  tell  me  what  the  corruption  is  supposed  to 
mean — the  gist  of  the  thing?'  I  asked. 

97 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

'  "I  have  been — many  times — overcome  with  weari- 
ness in  this  particular  employment."  That  is  the  mean- 
ing.' He  returned  me  the  paper,  and  I  fled  without  a 
word  of  thanks,  explanation,  or  apology. 

I  might  have  been  excused  for  forgetting  much.  To 
me  of  all  men  had  been  given  the  chance  to  write  the 
most  marvellous  tale  in  the  world,  nothing  less  than  the 
story  of  a  Greek  galley-slave,  as  told  by  himself.  Small 
wonder  that  his  dreaming  had  seemed  real  to  Charlie. 
The  Fates  that  are  so  careful  to  shut  the  doors  of  each 
successive  life  behind  us  had,  in  this  case,  been  neglect- 
ful, and  Charlie  was  looking,  though  that  he  did  not 
know,  where  never  man  had  been  permitted  to  look  with 
full  knowledge  since  Time  began.  Above  all,  he  was  ab- 
solutely ignorant  of  the  knowledge  sold  to  me  for  five 
pounds;  and  he  would  retain  that  ignorance,  for  bank- 
clerks  do  not  understand  metempsychosis,  and  a  sound 
commercial  education  does  not  include  Greek.  He  would 
supply  me — here  I  capered  among  the  dumb  gods  of 
Egypt  and  laughed  in  their  battered  faces — with  material 
to  make  my  tale  sure — so  sure  that  the  world  would  hail 
it  as  an  impudent  and  vamped  fiction.  And  I — I  alone 
would  know  that  it  was  absolutely  and  literally  true. 
I — I  alone  held  this  jewel  to  my  hand  for  the  cutting  and 
polishing!  Therefore  I  danced  again  among  the  gods  of 
the  Egyptian  court  till  a  policeman  saw  me  and  took 
steps  in  my  direction. 

It  remained  now  only  to  encourage  Charlie  to  talk, 
and  here  there  was  no  difficulty.  But  I  had  forgotten 
those  accursed  books  of  poetry.  He  came  to  me  time 
after  time,  as  useless  as  a  surcharged  phonograph — drunk 
on  Byron,  Shelley,  or  Keats.  Knowing  now  what  the 
boy  had  been  in  his  past  lives,  and  desperately  anxious 

98 


'THE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

not  to  lose  one  word  of  his  babble,  I  could  not  hide  from 
him  my  respect  and  interest.  He  misconstrued  both 
into  respect  for  the  present  soul  of  Charlie  Mears,  to 
whom  life  was  as  new  as  it  was  to  Adam,  and  interest  in 
his  readings;  and  stretched  my  patience  to  breaking 
point  by  reciting  poetry — not  his  own  now,  but  that  of 
others.  I  wished  every  English  poet  blotted  out  of  the 
memory  of  mankind.  I  blasphemed  the  mightiest 
names  of  song  because  they  had  drawn  Charlie  from  the 
path  of  direct  narrative,  and  would,  later,  spur  him  to 
imitate  them;  but  I  choked  down  my  impatience  until 
the  first  flood  of  enthusiasm  should  have  spent  itself  and 
the  boy  returned  to  his  dreams. 

'What's  the  use  of  my  telling  you  what  I  think,  when 
these  chaps  wrote  things  for  the  angels  to  read?'  he 
growled,  one  evening.  '  Why  don't  you  write  something 
like  theirs?' 

'I  don't  think  you're  treating  me  quite  fairly,'  I  said, 
speaking  under  strong  restraint. 

'I've  given  you  the  story,'  he  said  shortly,  replunging 
into  'Lara.' 

'But  I  want  the  details.' 

'The  things  I  make  up  about  that  damned  ship  that 
you  call  a  galley?  They're  quite  easy.  You  can  just 
make  'em  up  for  yourself.  Turn  up  the  gas  a  little,  I 
want  to  go  on  reading.' 

I  could  have  broken  the  gas  globe  over  his  head  for 
his  amazing  stupidity.  I  could  indeed  make  up  things 
for  myself  did  I  only  know  what  Charlie  did  not  know 
that  he  knew.  But  since  the  doors  were  shut  behind 
me  I  could  only  wait  his  youthful  pleasure  and  strive  to 
keep  him  in  good  temper.  One  minute's  want  of  guard 
might  spoil  a  priceless  revelation :  now  and  again  he  would 

99 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

toss  his  books  aside — he  kept  Ihem  in  my  rooms,  for  his 
mother  would  have  been  shocked  at  the  waste  of  good 
money  had  she  seen  them — and  launched  into  his  sea- 
dreams.  Again  I  cursed  all  the  poets  of  England.  The 
plastic  mind  of  the  bank-clerk  had  been  overlaid,  col- 
oured, and  distorted  by  that  which  he  had  read,  and  the 
result  as  delivered  was  a  confused  tangle  of  other  voices 
most  like  the  mutter  and  hum  through  a  City  telephone 
in  the  busiest  part  of  the  day. 

He  talked  of  the  galley — his  own  galley  had  he  but 
known  it — with  illustrations  borrowed  from  'The  Bride 
of  Abydos.'  He  pointed  the  experiences  of  his  hero 
with  quotations  from  'The  Corsair,'  and  threw  in  deep 
and  desperate  moral  reflections  from  'Cain'  and  'Man- 
fred,' expecting  me  to  use  them  all.  Only  when  the  talk 
turned  on  Longfellow  were  the  jarring  cross-currents 
dumb,  and  I  knew  that  Charlie  was  speaking  the  truth 
as  he  remembered  it. 

'What  do  you  think  of  this?'  I  said  one  evening,  as 
soon  as  I  understood  the  medium  in  which  his  memory 
worked  best,  and,  before  he  could  expostulate,  read  him 
nearly  the  whole  of  'The  Saga  of  King  Olaf ' ! 

He  listened  open-mouthed,  flushed,  his  hands  drum- 
ming on  the  back  of  the  sofa  where  he  lay,  till  I  came  to 
the  Song  of  Einar  Tamberskelver  and  the  verse : — 

*  Einar  then,  the  arrow  taking 
From  the  loosened  string, 
Answered,  "That  was  Norway  breaking 
'Neath  thy  hand,  0  King." ' 

He  gasped  with  pure  delight  o£  sound. 

'That's  better  than  Byron,  a  little?'  I  ventured. 

100 


'THE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

'  Better !     Why  it's  true !    How  could  he  have  known?' 
I  went  back  and  repeated : — 

'  "What  was  that?"  said  Olaf,  standing 
On  the  quarter-deck, 
"Something  heard  I  like  the  stranding 
Of  a  shattered  wreck." ' 

'How  could  he  have  known  how  the  ships  crash  and 
the  oars  rip  out  and  go  "z-zzp"  all  along  the  line?  Why 
only  the  other  night  .  .  .  But  go  back,  please,  and 
read  "The  Skerry  of  Shrieks"  again.' 

'No,  I'm  tired.  Let's  talk.  What  happened  the 
other  night? ' 

'  I  had  an  awful  dream  about  that  galley  of  ours.  I 
dreamed  I  was  drowned  in  a  fight.  You  see  we  ran 
alongside  another  ship  in  harbour.  The  water  was  dead 
still  except  where  our  oars  whipped  it  up.  You  know 
where  I  always  sit  in  the  galley?'  He  spoke  haltingly 
at  first,  under  a  fine  English  fear  of  being  laughed  at. 

'No.  That's  news  to  me,'  I  answered  meekly,  my 
heart  beginning  to  beat. 

'  On  the  fourth  oar  from  the  bow  on  the  right  side  on 
the  upper  deck.  There  were  four  of  us  at  that  oar,  all 
chained.  I  remember  watching  the  water  and  trying  to 
get  my  handcuffs  ofT  before  the  row  began.  Then  we 
closed  up  on  the  other  ship,  and  all  their  fighting  men 
jumped  over  our  bulwarks,  and  my  bench  broke  and  I 
was  pinned  down  with  the  three  other  fellows  on  top  of 
me,  and  the  big  oar  jammed  across  our  backs.' 

'Well?'  Charlie's  eyes  were  alive  and  alight.  He 
was  looking  at  the  wall  behind  my  chair. 

'  I  don't  know  how  we  fought.     The  men  were  tram- 

101 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

pling  all  over  my  back,  and  I  lay  low.  Then  our  rowers 
on  the  left  side — tied  to  their  oars,  you  know — began  to 
yell  and  back  water.  I  could  hear  the  water  sizzle,  and 
we  spun  round  like  a  cockchafer,  and  I  knew,  lying  where 
I  was,  that  there  was  a  galley  coming  up  bow-on  to  ram 
us  on  the  left  side.  I  could  just  lift  up  my  head  and  see 
her  sail  over  the  bulwarks.  We  wanted  to  meet  her  bow 
to  bow,  but  it  was  too  late.  We  could  only  turn  a  little 
bit  because  the  galley  on  our  right  had  hooked  herself  on 
to  us  and  stopped  our  moving.  Then,  by  gum!  there 
was  a  crash!  Our  left  oars  began  to  break  as  the  other 
galley,  the  moving  one  y'know,  stuck  her  nose  into 
them.  Then  the  lower-deck  oars  shot  up  through  the 
deck  planking,  butt  first,  and  one  of  them  jumped  clear 
up  into  the  air  and  came  down  again  close  at  my  head.' 

'  How  was  that  managed? ' 

'The  moving  galley's  bow  was  plunking  them  back 
through  their  own  oar-holes,  and  I  could  hear  no  end  of 
a  shindy  on  the  decks  below.  Then  her  nose  caught  us 
nearly  in  the  middle,  and  we  tilted  sideways,  and  the 
fellows  in  the  right-hand  galley  unhitched  their  hooks 
and  ropes,  and  threw  things  on  to  our  upper  deck — 
arrows,  and  hot  pitch  or  something  that  stung,  and  we 
went  up  and  up  and  up  on  the  left  side,  and  the  right 
side  dipped,  and  I  twisted  my  head  round  and  saw  the 
water  stand  still  as  it  topped  the  right  bulwarks.  Then 
it  curled  over  and  crashed  down  on  the  whole  lot  of  us 
on  the  right  side,  and  I  felt  it  hit  my  back,  and  I  woke.' 

'  One  minute,  Charlie.  When  the  sea  topped  the  bul- 
warks, what  did  it  look  like?'  I  had  my  reasons  for  asking. 
A  man  of  my  acquaintance  had  once  gone  down  with  a 
leaking  ship  in  a  still  sea,  and  had  seen  the  water-level 
pause  for  an  instant  ere  it  fell  on  the  deck. 

102 


'THE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

'It  looked  just  like  a  banjo-string  drawn  tight,  and  it 
seemed  to  stay  there  for  years,'  said  Charlie. 

Exactly!  The  other  man  had  said:  'It  looked  Hke  a 
silver  wire  laid  down  along  the  bulwarks,  and  I  thought 
it  was  never  going  to  break.'  He  had  paid  everything 
except  the  bare  life  for  this  little  valueless  piece  of  knowl- 
edge, and  I  had  travelled  ten  thousand  weary  miles  to 
meet  him  and  take  his  knowledge  at  second  hand.  But 
Charlie,  the  bank-clerk  on  twenty-five  shillings  a  week, 
who  had  never  been  out  of  sight  of  a  made  road,  knew  it 
all.  It  was  no  consolation  to  me  that  once  in  his  lives 
he  had  been  forced  to  die  for  his  gains.  I  also  must 
have  died  scores  of  times,  but  behind  me,  because  I  could 
have  used  my  knowledge,  the  doors  were  shut. 

'And  then?'  I  said,  trying  to  put  away  the  devil  of 
envy. 

'The  funny  thing  was,  though,  in  all  the  row  I  didn't 
feel  a  bit  astonished  or  frightened.  It  seemed  as  if  I'd 
been  in  a  good  many  fights,  because  I  told  my  next  man 
so  when  the  row  began.  But  that  cad  of  an  overseer  on 
my  deck  wouldn't  unloose  our  chains  and  give  us  a  chance. 
He  always  said  that  we'd  all  be  set  free  after  a  battle, 
but  we  never  were — we  never  were.'  Charlie  shook 
his  head  mournfully. 

*  What  a  scoundrel ! ' 

'  I  should  say  he  was !  He  never  gave  us  enough  to 
eat,  and  sometimes  we  were  so  thirsty  that  we  used  to 
drink  salt-water.     I  can  taste  that  salt-water  still.' 

'Now  tell  me  something  about  the  harbour  where  the 
fight  was  fought.' 

'  I  didn't  dream  about  that.  I  know  it  was  a  harbour, 
though;  because  we  were  tied  up  to  a  ring  on  a  white 
wall  and  all  the  face  of  the  stone  under  water  was  covered 

103 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

with  wood  to  prevent  our  ram  getting  chipped  when  the 
lide  made  us  rock.' 

'That's  curious.  Our  hero  commanded  the  galley, 
didn't  he?' 

'Didn't  he  just!  He  stood  by  the  bows  and  shouted 
like  a  good  'un.  He  was  the  man  who  killed  the  over- 
seer.' 

'But  you  were  all  drowned  together,  Charlie,  weren't 
you?' 

'I  can't  make  that  fit  quite,'  he  said,  with  a  puzzled 
look.  'The  galley  must  have  gone  down  with  all  hands, 
and  yet  I  fancy  that  the  hero  went  on  living  afterwards. 
Perhaps  he  climbed  into  the  attacking  ship.  I  wouldn't 
see  that,  of  course.     I  was  dead,  you  know.' 

He  shivered  slightly  and  protested  that  he  could  re- 
member no  more. 

I  did  not  press  him  further,  but  to  satisfy  myself  that 
he  lay  in  ignorance  of  the  workings  of  his  own  mind,  de- 
liberately introduced  him  to  Mortimer  Collins's  'Trans- 
migration,' and  gave  him  a  sketch  of  the  plot  before  he 
opened  the  pages. 

*  What  rot  it  all  is ! '  he  said  frankly,  at  the  end  of  an 
hour.  '  I  don't  understand  his  nonsense  about  the  Red 
Planet  Mars  and  the  King,  and  the  rest  of  it.  Chuck 
me  the  Longfellow  again.' 

I  handed  him  the  book  and  wrote  out  as  much  as  I 
could  remember  of  his  description  of  the  sea-fight,  ap- 
pealing to  him  from  time  to  time  for  confirmation  of  fact 
or  detail.  He  would  answer  without  raising  his  eyes 
from  the  book,  as  assuredly  as  though  all  his  knowledge 
lay  before  him  on  the  printed  page.  I  spoke  under  the 
normal  key  of  my  voice  that  the  current  might  not  be 
broken,  and  I  knew  that  he  was  not  aware  of  what  he 

104 


'THE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

was  saying,  for  his  thoughts  were  out  on  the  sea  with 
Longfellow. 

'Charlie,'  I  asked,  'when  the  rowers  on  the  galleys 
mutinied  how  did  they  kill  their  overseers? ' 

'  'Tore  up  the  benches  and  brained  'em.  That  hap- 
pened when  a  heavy  sea  was  running.  An  overseer  on 
the  lower  deck  slipped  from  the  centre  plank  and  fell 
among  the  rowers.  They  choked  him  to  death  against 
the  side  of  the  ship  with  their  chained  hands  quite  quietly, 
and  it  was  too  dark  for  the  other  overseer  to  see  what 
had  happened.  When  he  asked,  he  was  pulled  down 
too  and  choked,  and  the  lower  deck  fought  their  way  up 
deck  by  deck,  with  the  pieces  of  the  broken  benches 
banging  behind  'em.     How  they  howled ! ' 

'And  what  happened  after  that?' 

'I  don't  know.  The  hero  went  away — red  hair  and 
red  beard  and  all.  That  was  after  he  had  captured  our 
galley,  I  think.' 

The  sound  of  my  voice  irritated  him,  and  he  motioned 
slightly  with  his  left  hand  as  a  man  does  when  interrup- 
tion jars. 

'You  never  told  me  he  was  red-headed  before,  or 
that  he  captured  your  galley,'  I  said,  after  a  discreet 
interval. 

Charlie  did  not  raise  his  eyes. 

'He  was  as  red  as  a  red  bear,'  said  he  abstractedly. 
'He  came  from  the  north;  they  said  so  in  the  galley  when 
he  looked  for  rowers — not  slaves,  but  free  men.  After- 
wards^ — years  and  years  afterwards — news  came  from 
another  ship,  or  else  he  came  back — ' 

His  hps  moved  in  silence.  He  was  rapturously  retast- 
ing  some  poem  before  him. 

'  Where  had  he  been,  then? '  I  was  almost  whispering 

105 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

that  the  sentence  might  come  gently  to  whichever  sec- 
tion of  CharHe's  brain  was  working  on  my  behalf. 

*To  the  Beaches — the  Long  and  Wonderful  Beaches!' 
was  the  reply  after  a  minute  of  silence. 

'  To  Furdurstrandi? '  I  asked,  tingling  from  head  to  foot. 

*Yes,  to  Furdurstrandi,'  he  pronounced  the  word  in  a 
new  fashion.     '  And  I  too  saw — '     The  voice  failed. 

'Do  you  know  what  you  have  said?'  I  shouted  in- 
cautiously. 

He  lifted  his  eyes,  fully  roused  now.  '  No ! '  he  snapped, 
*  I  wish  you'd  let  a  chap  go  on  reading.     Hark  to  this : — 

'  "But  Othere,  the  old  sea  captain. 
He  neither  paused  nor  stirred 
Till  the  king  listened,  and  then 
Once  more  took  up  his  pen 
And  wrote  down  every  word. 

'  "And  to  the  King  of  the  Saxons 
In  witness  of  the  truth. 
Raising  his  noble  head. 
He  stretched  his  brown  hand  and  said, 
'Behold  this  walrus  tooth. '  " 

By  Jove,  what  chaps  those  must  have  been,  to  go  sailing 
all  over  the  shop  never  knowing  where  they'd  fetch  the 
land!     Hah!' 

'Charlie,'  I  pleaded,  'if  you'll  only  be  sensible  for  a 
minute  or  two  I'll  make  our  hero  in  our  tale  every  inch 
as  good  as  Othere.' 

'Umph!  Longfellow  wrote  that  poem.  I  don't  care 
about  writing  things  any  more.  I  want  to  read.'  He 
was  thoroughly  out  of  tune  now,  and  raging  over  my 
own  ill-luck,  I  left  him. 

106 


*THE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

Conceive  yourself  at  the  door  of  the  world's  treasure- 
house  guarded  by  a  child — an  idle,  irresponsible  child 
playing  knuckle-bones — on  whose  favour  depends  the 
gift  of  the  key,  and  you  will  imagine  one-half  my  tor- 
ment. Till  that  evening  Charlie  had  spoken  nothing 
that  might  not  lie  within  the  experiences  of  a  Greek 
galley-slave.  But  now,  or  there  was  no  virtue  in  books, 
he  had  talked  of  some  desperate  adventure  of  the  Vi- 
kings, of  Thorfm  Karlsefne's  sailing  to  Wineland,  which 
is  America,  in  the  ninth  or  tenth  century.  The  battle 
in  the  harbour  he  had  seen;  and  his  own  death  he  had 
described.  But  this  was  a  much  more  startling  plunge 
into  the  past.  Was  it  possible  that  he  had  skipped  half 
a  dozen  lives,  and  was  then  dimly  remembering  some 
episode  of  a  thousand  years  later?  It  was  a  maddening 
jumble,  and  the  worst  of  it  was  that  Charlie  Mears  in 
his  normal  condition  was  the  last  person  in  the  world  to 
clear  it  up.  I  could  only  wait  and  watch,  but  I  went  to 
bed  that  night  full  of  the  wildest  imaginings.  There  was 
nothing  that  was  not  possible  if  Charlie's  detestable 
memory  only  held  good. 

I  might  rewrite  the  Saga  of  Thorfm  Karlsefne  as  it 
had  never  been  written  before,  might  tell  the  story  of 
the  first  discovery  of  America,  myself  the  discoverer. 
But  I  was  entirely  at  Charlie's  mercy,  and  so  long  as 
there  was  a  three-and-sixpenny  Bohn  volume  within  his 
reach  Charlie  would  not  tell.  I  dared  not  curse  him 
openly;  I  hardly  dared  jog  his  memory,  for  I  was  deal- 
ing with  the  experiences  of  a  thousand  years  ago,  told 
through  the  mouth  of  a  boy  of  to-day;  and  a  boy  is 
alTected  by  every  change  of  tone  and  gust  of  opinion, 
so  that  he  must  lie  even  when  he  most  desires  to  speak 
the  truth. 

107 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

I  saw  no  more  of  Charlie  for  nearly  a  week.  When 
next  I  met  him  it  was  in  Gracechiirch  Street  with  a  bill- 
book  chained  to  his  waist.  Business  took  him  over 
London  Bridge,  and  I  accompanied  him.  He  was  very 
full  of  the  importance  of  that  book  and  magnified  it. 
As  we  passed  over  the  Thames  we  paused  to  look  at  a 
steamer  unloading  great  slabs  of  white  and  brown  marble. 
A  barge  drifted  under  the  steamer's  stern  and  a  lonely 
ship's  cow  in  that  barge  bellowed.  Charlie's  face  changed 
from  the  face  of  the  bank-clerk  to  that  of  an  unknown 
and — though  he  would  not  have  believed  this — a  much 
shrewder  man.  He  flung  out  his  arm  across  the  parapet 
of  the  bridge  and  laughing  very  loudly,  said : — 

'  When  they  heard  our  bulls  bellow  the  Skroelings  ran 
away ! ' 

I  waited  only  for  an  instant,  but  the  barge  and  the 
cow  had  disappeared  under  the  bows  of  the  steamer  be- 
fore I  answered. 

'Charlie,  what  do  you  suppose  are  Skroelings?' 

'Never  heard  of  'em  before.  They  sound  Hke  a  new 
kind  of  sea-gull.  W'hat  a  chap  you  are  for  asking  ques- 
tions!' he  replied.  'I  have  to  go  to  the  cashier  of  the 
Omnibus  Company  yonder.  Will  you  wait  for  me  and 
we  can  lunch  somewhere  together?  I've  a  notion  for  a 
poem.' 

'No,  thanks.  I'm  olT.  You're  sure  you  know  no- 
thing about  Skroelings? ' 

'Not  unless  he's  been  entered  for  the  Liverpool  Handi- 
cap.'    He  nodded  and  disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

Now  it  is  written  in  the  Saga  of  Eric  the  Red  or  that 
of  Thorfm  Karlsefne,  that  nine  hundred  years  ago  when 
Karlsefne's  galleys  came  to  Leif 's  booths,  which  Leif  had 
erected  in  the  unknown  land  called  Markland,  which 

108 


'THE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

may  or  may  not  have  been  Rhode  Island,  the  SkroeUngs 
— and  the  Lord  He  knows  who  these  may  or  may  not 
have  been— came  to  trade  with  the  Vikings,  and  ran 
away  because  they  were  frightened  at  the  bellowing  of 
the  cattle  which  Thorfin  had  brought  with  him  in  the 
ships.  But  what  in  the  world  could  a  Greek  slave  know 
of  that  affair?  I  wandered  up  and  down  among  the 
streets  trying  to  unravel  the  mystery,  and  the  more  I 
considered  it  the  more  baffling  it  grew.  One  thing  only 
seemed  certain,  and  that  certainty  took  away  my  breath 
for  the  moment.  If  I  came  to  full  knowledge  of  any- 
thing at  all,  it  would  not  be  one  life  of  the  soul  in  Charlie 
Mears's  body,  but  half  a  dozen — half  a  dozen  several 
and  separate  existences  spent  on  blue  water  in  the  morn- 
ing of  the  world ! 

Then  I  reviewed  the  situation. 

Obviously  if  I  used  my  knowledge  I  should  stand  alone 
and  unapproachable  until  all  men  were  as  wise  as  myself. 
That  would  be  something,  but,  manlike,  I  was  ungrate- 
ful. It  seemed  bitterly  unfair  that  Charlie's  memory 
should  fail  me  when  I  needed  it  most.  Great  Powers 
Above ! — I  looked  up  at  them  through  the  fog-smoke — 
did  the  Lords  of  Life  and  Death  know  what  this  meant 
to  me?  Nothing  less  than  eternal  fame  of  the  best  kind, 
that  comes  from  One,  and  is  shared  by  one  alone.  I 
would  be  content— remembering  Clive,  I  stood  astounded 
at  my  own  moderation — with  the  mere  right  to  tell  one 
story,  to  work  out  one  little  contribution  to  the  light 
literature  of  the  day.  If  Charlie  were  permitted  full 
recollection  for  one  hour — for  sixty  short  minutes — of 
existences  that  had  extended  over  a  thousand  years — I 
would  forego  all  profit  and  honour  from  all  that  I  should 
make  of  his  speech.     I  would  take  no  share  in  the  com- 

109 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

motion  that  would  follow  throughout  the  particular  cor- 
ner of  the  earth  that  calls  itself  'the  world.'  The  thing 
should  be  put  forth  anonymously.  Nay,  I  would  make 
other  men  believe  that  they  had  written  it.  They  would 
hire  bull-hided  self-advertising  Englishmen  to  bellow  it 
abroad.  Preachers  would  found  a  fresh  conduct  of  life 
upon  it,  swearing  that  it  was  new  and  that  they  had 
lifted  the  fear  of  death  from  all  mankind.  Every  Orien- 
talist in  Europe  would  patronise  it  discursively  with 
Sanskrit  and  Pali  texts.  Terrible  women  would  invent 
unclean  variants  of  the  men's  belief  for  the  elevation  of 
their  sisters.  Churches  and  religions  would  war  over 
it.  Between  the  hailing  and  restarting  of  an  omnibus  I 
foresaw  the  scuffles  that  would  arise  among  half  a  dozen 
denominations  all  professing  'the  doctrine  of  the  True 
Metempsychosis  as  applied  to  the  world  and  the  New 
Era';  and  saw,  too,  the  respectable  English  newspapers 
shying,  like  frightened  kine,  over  the  beautiful  simplicity 
of  the  tale.  The  mind  leaped  forward  a  hundred — two 
hundred — a  thousand  years.  I  saw  with  sorrow  that 
men  would  mutilate  and  garble  the  story;  that  rival 
creeds  would  turn  it  upside  down  till,  at  last,  the  western 
world  which  clings  to  the  dread  of  death  more  closely 
than  the  hope  of  life,  would  set  it  aside  as  an  interesting 
superstition  and  stampede  after  some  faith  so  long  for- 
gotten that  it  seemed  altogether  new.  Upon  this  I 
changed  the  terms  of  the  bargain  that  I  would  make  with 
the  Lords  of  Life  and  Death.  Only  let  me  know,  let  me 
write,  the  story  with  sure  knowledge  that  I  wrote  the 
truth,  and  I  would  burn  the  manuscript  as  a  solemn  sac- 
rifice. Five  minutes  after  the  last  line  was  written  I 
would  destroy  it  all.  But  I  must  be  allowed  to  write  it 
with  absolute  certainty. 

110 


'THE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD- 

There  was  no  answer.  The  flaming  colours  of  an 
Aquarium  poster  caught  my  eye,  and  I  wondered  whether 
it  would  be  wise  or  prudent  to  lure  Charlie  into  the  hands 
of  the  professional  mesmerist  then,  and  whether,  if  he  were 
under  his  power,  he  would  speak  of  his  past  lives.  If  he 
did,  and  if  people  believed  him  .  .  .  but  Charlie 
would  be  frightened  and  flustered,  or  made  conceited  by 
the  interviews.  In  either  case  he  would  begin  to  lie 
through  fear  or  vanity.     He  was  safest  in  my  own  hands. 

'They  are  very  funny  fools,  your  English,'  said  a  voice 
at  my  elbow,  and  turning  round  I  recognised  a  casual 
acquaintance,  a  young  Bengali  law  student,  called  Grish 
Chunder,  whose  father  had  sent  him  to  England  to  be- 
come civilised.  The  old  man  was  a  retired  native  official, 
and  on  an  income  of  five  pounds  a  month  contrived  to 
allow  his  son  two  hundred  pounds  a  year,  and  the  run  of 
his  teeth  in  a  city  where  he  could  pretend  to  be  the  cadet 
of  a  royal  house,  and  tell  stories  of  the  brutal  Indian 
bureaucrats  who  ground  the  faces  of  the  poor. 

Grish  Chunder  was  a  young,  fat,  full-bodied  Bengali, 
dressed  with  scrupulous  care  in  frock  coat,  tall  hat,  light 
trousers,  and  tan  gloves.  But  I  had  known  him  in  the 
days  when  the  brutal  Indian  Government  paid  for  his 
university  education,  and  he  contributed  cheap  sedition 
to  the  'Sachi  Durpan,'  and  intrigued  with  the  wives  of 
his  fourteen-year-old  school-mates. 

'That  is  very  funny  and  very  foolish,'  he  said,  nod- 
ding at  the  poster.  'I  am  going  down  to  the  North- 
brook  Club.     Will  you  come  too? ' 

I  walked  with  him  for  some  time.  '  You  are  not  well, '  he 
said.   '  What  is  there  on  your  mind?    You  do  not  talk.' 

'  Grish  Chunder,  you've  been  too  well  educated  to  be- 
lieve in  a  God,  haven't  you? ' 

111 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

'Oah,  yes,  here!  But  when  I  go  home  I  must  con- 
ciliate popular  superstition,  and  make  ceremonies  of 
purification,  and  my  women  will  anoint  idols.' 

'And  hang  up  tulsi  and  feast  the  purohit,  and  take 
you  back  into  caste  again,  and  make  a  good  khuttri  of 
you  again,  you  advanced  Freethinker.  And  you'll  eat 
desi  food,  and  like  it  all,  from  the  smell  in  the  courtyard 
to  the  mustard  oil  over  you.' 

'I  shall  very  much  like  it,'  said  Grish  Chunder  un- 
guardedly. 'Once  a  Hindu — always  a  Hindu.  But  I 
like  to  know  what  the  English  think  they  know.' 

'I'll  tell  you  something  that  one  Englishman  knows. 
It's  an  old  tale  to  you.' 

I  began  to  tell  the  story  of  Charlie  in  English,  but  Grish 
Chunder  put  a  question  in  the  vernacular,  and  the  history 
went  forward  naturally  in  the  tongue  best  suited  for  its 
telling.  After  all,  it  could  never  have  been  told  in  English. 
Grish  Chunder  heard  me,  nodding  from  time  to  time,  and 
then  came  up  to  my  rooms,  where  I  fmished  the  tale. 

'Beshak,'  he  said  philosophically.  'Lekin  darwaza 
band  hai.  (Without  doubt.  But  the  door  is  shut.)  I 
have  heard  of  this  remembering  of  previous  existences 
among  my  people.  It  is  of  course  an  old  tale  with  us, 
but,  to  happen  to  an  Englishman — a  cow-fed  Mlechh — 
an  outcast.     By  Jove,  that  is  most  peculiar ! ' 

'Outcast  yourself,  Grish  Chunder!  You  eat  cow- 
beef  every  day.  Let's  think  the  thing  over.  The  boy 
remembers  his  incarnations.' 

'Does  he  know  that?'  said  Grish  Chunder  quietly, 
swinging  his  legs  as  he  sat  on  my  table.  He  was  speak- 
ing in  his  English  now. 

'He  does  not  know  anything.  Would  I  speak  to  you 
if  he  did?     Goon!' 

112 


'THE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

'There  is  no  going  on  at  all.  If  you  tell  that  to  your 
friends  they  will  say  you  are  mad  and  put  it  in  the  papers. 
Suppose,  now,  you  prosecute  for  libel.' 

'  Let's  leave  that  out  of  the  question  entirely.  Is  there 
any  chance  of  his  being  made  to  speak?' 

'There  is  a  chance.  Oah,  ycss!  But  if  he  spoke  it 
would  mean  that  all  this  world  would  end  now — instanto 
— fall  down  on  your  head.  These  things  are  not  al- 
lowed, you  know.     As  I  said,  the  door  is  shut.' 

'Not  a  ghost  of  a  chance?' 

'How  can  there  be?  You  are  a  Christi-an,  and  it  is 
forbidden  to  eat,  in  your  books,  of  the  Tree  of  Life,  or 
else  you  would  never  die.  How  shall  you  all  fear  death 
if  you  all  know^  what  your  friend  does  not  know  that  he 
knows?  I  am  afraid  to  be  kicked,  but  I  am  not  afraid 
to  die,  because  I  know  what  I  know.  You  are  not  afraid 
to  be  kicked,  but  you  are  afraid  to  die.  If  you  were  not,  by 
God !  you  English  would  be  all  over  the  shop  in  an  hour,  up- 
setting the  balances  of  power,  and  making  commotions. 
It  would  not  be  good.  But  no  fear.  He  will  remember  a 
little  and  a  little  less,  and  he  will  call  it  dreams.  Then  he 
will  forget  altogether.  When  I  passed  my  First  Arts  Ex- 
amination in  Calcutta  that  was  all  in  the  cram-book  on 
Wordsworth.    "Trailing  clouds  of  glory,"  you  know.' 

'This  seems  to  be  an  exception  to  the  rule.' 

'There  are  no  exceptions  to  rules.  Some  are  not  so 
hard-looking  as  others,  but  they  are  all  the  same  when 
you  touch.  If  this  friend  of  yours  said  so-and-so  and  so- 
and-so,  indicating  that  he  remembered  all  his  lost  lives, 
or  one  piece  of  a  lost  life,  he  would  not  be  in  the  bank 
another  hour.  He  would  be  what  you  called  sack  be- 
cause he  was  mad,  and  they  would  send  him  to  an  asylum 
for  lunatics.     You  can  see  that,  my  friend.' 

113 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

*0f  course  I  can,  but  I  wasn't  thinking  of  him.  His 
name  need  never  appear  in  the  story.' 

'Ah!  I  see.  That  story  will  never  be  written.  You 
can  try.' 

'I  am  going  to.' 

'For  your  own  credit  and  for  the  sake  of  money,  of 
course?' 

'No.  For  the  sake  of  writing  the  story.  On  my 
honour  that  will  be  all' 

'Even  then  there  is  no  chance.  You  cannot  play 
with  the  gods.  It  is  a  very  pretty  story  now.  As  they 
say,  Let  it  go  on  that — I  mean  at  that.  Be  quick;  he 
will  not  last  long.' 

'How  do  you  mean?' 

'What  I  say.  He  has  never,  so  far,  thought  about  a 
woman.* 

'  Hasn't  he,  though ! '  I  remembered  some  of  Charlie's 
confidences. 

'I  mean  no  woman  has  thought  about  him.  When 
that  comes;  bus — hogya — all  up!  I  know.  There  are 
millions  of  women  here.  Housemaids,  for  instance. 
They  kiss  you  behind  doors.' 

I  winced  at  the  thought  of  my  story  being  ruined  by  a 
housemaid.     And  yet  nothing  was  more  probable. 

Grish  Chunder  grinned. 

*Yes — also  pretty  girls — cousins  of  his  house,  and 
perhaps  not  of  his  house.  One  kiss  that  he  gives  back 
again  and  remembers  will  cure  all  this  nonsense,  or 
else —  ' 

*  Or  else  what?  Remember  he  does  not  know  that  he 
knows.' 

*  I  know  that.  Or  else,  if  nothing  happens  he  will  be- 
come immersed  in  the  trade  and  the  financial  speculation 

114 


*THE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

like  the  rest.     It  must  be  so.     You  can  see  that  it  must 
be  so.     But  the  woman  will  come  first,  I  think.' 

There  was  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  Charlie  charged  in 
impetuously.  He  had  been  released  from  office,  and  by 
the  look  in  his  eyes  I  could  see  that  he  had  come  over  for 
a  long  talk;  most  probably  with  poems  in  his  pockets. 
Charlie's  poems  were  very  wearying,  but  sometimes 
they  led  him  to  speak  about  the  galley. 

Grish  Chunder  looked  at  him  keenly  for  a  minute. 

'I  beg  your  pardon,'  Charlie  said  uneasily;  'I  didn't 
know  you  had  any  one  with  you.' 

'I  am  going,'  said  Grish  Chunder. 

He  drew  me  into  the  lobby  as  he  departed. 

'That  is  your  man,'  he  said  quickly.  'I  tell  you  he 
will  never  speak  all  you  wish.  That  is  rot — bosh.  But 
he  would  be  most  good  to  make  to  see  things.  Suppose 
now  we  pretend  that  it  was  only  play' — I  had  never  seen 
Grish  Chunder  so  excited — 'and  pour  the  ink-pool  into 
his  hand.  Eh,  what  do  you  think?  I  tell  you  that  he 
could  see  anything  that  a  man  could  see.  Let  me  get 
the  ink  and  the  camphor.  He  is  a  seer  and  he  will  tell 
us  very  many  things.' 

'He  may  be  all  you  say,  but  I'm  not  going  to  trust 
him  to  your  gods  and  devils.' 

*  It  will  not  hurt  him.  He  will  only  feel  a  little  stupid 
and  dull  when  he  wakes  up.  You  have  seen  boys  look 
into  the  ink-pool  before.' 

'That  is  the  reason  why  I  am  not  going  to  see  it  any 
more.     You'd  better  go,  Grish  Chunder.' 

He  went,  insisting  far  down  the  staircase  that  it  was 
throwing  away  my  only  chance  of  looking  into  the  future. 

This  left  me  unmoved,  for  I  was  concerned  for  the  past, 
and  no  peering  of  hypnotised  boys  into  mirrors  and  ink- 

115 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

pools  would  help  me  to  that.  But  I  recognised  Grish 
Chunder's  point  of  view  and  sympathised  with  it. 

'What  a  big  black  brute  that  was!'  said  Charlie,  when 
I  returned  to  him..  'Well,  look  here,  I've  just  done  a 
poem;  did  it  instead  of  playing  dominoes  after  lunch. 
May  I  read  it? ' 

'Let  me  read  it  to  myself.' 

'Then  you  miss  the  proper  expression.  Besides,  you 
always  make  my  things  sound  as  if  the  rhymes  were  all 
wrong.' 

'  Read  it  aloud,  then.     You're  like  the  rest  of  'em.' 

Charlie  mouthed  me  his  poem,  and  it  was  not  much 
worse  than  the  average  of  his  verses.  He  had  been  read- 
ing his  books  faithfully,  but  he  was  not  pleased  when  I 
told  him  that  I  preferred  my  Longfellow  undiluted  with 
Charlie. 

Then  we  began  to  go  through  the  MS.  line  by  line, 
Charlie  parrying  every  objection  and  correction  with: 

'Yes,  that  may  be  better,  but  you  don't  catch  what 
I'm  driving  at.' 

Charlie  was,  in  one  way  at  least,  very  like  one  kind  of 
poet. 

There  was  a  pencil  scrawl  at  the  back  of  the  paper, 
and 'What's  that?' I  said. 

'Oh,  that's  not  poetry  at  all.  It's  some  rot  I  wrote 
last  night  before  I  went  to  bed,  and  it  was  too  much 
bother  to  hunt  for  rhymes;  so  I  made  it  a  sort  of  blank 
verse  instead.' 

Here  is  Charlie's  'blank  verse' : — 

'  W^e  pulled  for  you  when  the  wind  was  against  us  and 
the  sails  were  low. 

Will  you  never  let  us  go? 
116 


'THE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

We  ate  bread  and  onions  when  you  took  towns,  or  ran 
aboard  quickly  when  you  were  beaten  back  by  the  foe. 

The  captains  walked  up  and  down  the  deck  in  fair 
weather  singing  songs,  but  we  were  below. 

We  fainted  with  our  chins  on  the  oars  and  you  did 
not  see  that  we  were  idle  for  we  still  swung  to  and  fro. 
Will  you  never  let  us  go? 

The  salt  made  the  oar-handles  like  shark-skin;  our 
knees  were  cut  to  the  bone  w^th  salt  cracks;  our  hair  was 
stuck  to  our  foreheads;  and  our  lips  were  cut  to   our 
gums,  and  you  whipped  us  because  we  could  not  row. 
Will  you  never  let  us  go? 

But  in  a  little  time  we  shall  run  out  of  the  portholes  as 
the  water  runs  along  the  oar-blade,  and  though  you  tell 
the  others  to  row  after  us  you  will  never  catch  us  till  you 
catch  the  oar-thresh  and  tie  up  the  winds  in  the  belly  of 
the  sail.     Aho! 

Will  you  never  let  us  go?' 

'H'm.     What's  oar-thresh,  Charlie?' 

'The  water  washed  up  by  the  oars.  That's  the  sort 
of  song  they  might  sing  in  the  galley,  y'  know.  Aren't 
you  ever  going  to  finish  that  story  and  give  me  some  of 
the  profits?' 

'It  depends  on  yourself.  If  you  had  only  told  me 
more  about  your  hero  in  the  first  instance  it  might  have 
been  finished  by  now.     You're  so  hazy  in  your  notions.' 

'  I  only  want  to  give  you  the  general  notion  of  it — the 
knocking  about  from  place  to  place  and  the  fighting  and 
all  that.  Can't  you  fill  in  the  rest  yourself?  Make  the 
hero  save  a  girl  on  a  pirate-galley  and  marry  her  or  do 
something.' 

*  You're  a  really  helpful  collaborator.     I  suppose  the 

117 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

hero  went  through  some  few  adventures  before  he  mar- 
ried.' 

*  Well,  then,  make  him  a  very  artful  card — a  low  sort 
of  man — a  sort  of  political  man  who  went  about  making 
treaties  and  breaking  them — a  black-haired  chap  who 
hid  behind  the  mast  when  the  fighting  began.' 

'But  you  said  the  other  day  that  he  was  red-haired.' 

'I  couldn't  have.  Make  him  black-haired  of  course. 
You've  no  imagination.' 

Seeing  that  I  had  just  discovered  the  entire  principles 
upon  which  the  half-memory  falsely  called  imagination 
is  based,  I  felt  entitled  to  laugh,  but  forbore  for  the  sake 
of  the  tale. 

'You're  right.  You're  the  man  with  imagination. 
A  black-haired  chap  in  a  decked  ship,'  I  said. 

'No,  an  open  ship — like  a  big  boat.' 

This  was  maddening. 

'Your  ship  has  been  built  and  designed,  closed  and 
decked  in;  you  said  so  yourself,'  I  protested. 

*  No,  no,  not  that  ship.  That  was  open  or  half-decked 
because — By  Jove,  you're  right.  You  made  me  think 
of  the  hero  as  a  red-haired  chap.  Of  course  if  he  were 
red,  the  ship  would  be  an  open  one  with  painted  sails.' 

Surely,  I  thought,  he  would  remember  now  that  he 
had  served  in  two  galleys  at  least — in  a  three-deci<:ed 
Greek  one  under  the  black-haired  'political  man,'  and 
again  in  a  Viking's  open  sea-serpent  under  the  man  'red 
as  a  red  bear'  who  went  to  Markland.  The  devil 
prompted  me  to  speak. 

*\Vhy  "of  course,"  Charlie?'  said  I. 

*  I  don't  know.     Are  you  making  fun  of  me? ' 

The  current  was  broken  for  the  time  being.  I  took 
up  a  note-book  and  pretended  to  make  many  entries  in  it. 

118 


*THE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

'  It's  a  pleasure  to  work  with  an  imaginative  chap  like 
yourself,'  I  said,  after  a  pause.  'The  way  that  you've 
brought  out  the  character  of  the  hero  is  simply  wonderful.' 

'Do  you  think  so?'  he  answered,  with  a  pleased  flush. 
'  I  often  tell  myself  that  there's  more  in  me  than  my 
mo — than  people  think.' 

'There's  an  enormous  amount  in  you.' 

'Then,  won't  you  let  me  send  an  essay  on  "The  Ways 
of  Bank-Clerks"  to  "Tit-Bits,"  and  get  the  guinea  prize?' 

'That  wasn't  exactly  what  I  meant,  old  fellow:  per- 
haps it  would  be  better  to  wait  a  little  and  go  ahead  with 
the  galley-story.' 

'Ah,  but  I  shan't  get  the  credit  of  that.  "Tit-Bits" 
would  publish  my  name  and  address  if  I  win.  What 
are  you  grinning  at?     They  would.' 

*I  know  it.  Suppose  you  go  for  a  walk.  I  want  to 
look  through  my  notes  about  our  story.' 

Now  this  reprehensible  youth  who  left  me,  a  little  hurt 
and  put  back,  might  for  aught  he  or  I  knew  have  been 
one  of  the  crew  of  the  Argo — had  been  certainly  slave  or 
comrade  to  Thorfm  Karlsefne.  Therefore  he  was  deeply 
interested  in  guinea  competitions.  Remembering  what 
Grish  Chunder  had  said  I  laughed  aloud.  The  Lords  of 
Life  and  Death  would  never  allow  Charlie  Mears  to 
speak  with  full  knowledge  of  his  pasts,  and  I  must  even 
piece  out  what  he  had  told  me  with  my  own  poor  inven- 
tions while  Charlie  wrote  of  the  ways  of  bank-clerks. 

I  got  together  and  placed  on  one  file  all  my  notes;  and 
the  net  result  was  not  cheering.  I  read  them  a  second 
time.  There  was  nothing  that  might  not  have  been  com- 
piled at  second  hand  from  other  people's  books — except, 
perhaps,  the  story  of  the  fight  in  the  harbour.  The  ad- 
ventures of  a  Viking  had  been  written  many  times  be- 

119 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

fore;  the  history  of  a  Greek  galley-slave  was  no  new 
thing,  and  though  I  wrote  both,  who  could  challenge  or 
confirm  the  accuracy  of  my  details?  I  might  as  well  tell 
a  tale  of  two  thousand  years  hence.  The  Lords  of  Life 
and  Death  were  as  cunning  as  Grish  Chunder  had  hinted. 
They  would  allow  nothing  to  escape  that  might  trouble 
or  make  easy  the  minds  of  men.  Though  I  was  con- 
vinced of  this,  yet  I  could  not  leave  the  tale  alone.  Ex- 
altation followed  reaction,  not  once,  but  twenty  times 
in  the  next  few  weeks.  My  moods  varied  with  the  March 
sunlight  and  flying  clouds.  By  night  or  in  the  beauty 
of  a  spring  morning  I  perceived  that  I  could  write  that 
tale  and  shift  continents  thereby.  In  the  wet  windy  af- 
ternoons I  saw  that  the  tale  might  indeed  be  written,  but 
would  be  nothing  more  than  a  faked,  false-varnished, 
sham-rusted  piece  of  Wardour  Street  work  in  the  end. 
Then  I  blessed  Charlie  in  many  ways — though  it  was  no 
fault  of  his.  He  seemed  to  be  busy  with  prize  competi- 
tions, and  I  saw  less  and  less  of  him  as  the  weeks  went 
by  and  the  earth  cracked  and  grew  ripe  to  spring,  and 
the  buds  swelled  in  their  sheaths.  He  did  not  care  to 
read  or  talk  of  what  he  had  read,  and  there  was  a  new 
ring  of  self-assertion  in  his  voice.  I  hardly  cared  to  re- 
mind him  of  the  galley  when  we  met;  but  Charlie  alluded 
to  it  on  every  occasion,  always  as  a  story  from  w^hich 
money  was  to  be  made. 

'I  think  I  deserve  twenty-five  per  cent,  don't  I,  at 
least? '  he  said,  with  beautiful  frankness.  *  I  supplied  all 
the  ideas,  didn't  I?' 

This  greediness  for  silver  was  a  new  side  in  his  nature. 
I  assumed  that  it  had  been  developed  in  the  City,  where 
Charlie  was  picking  up  the  curious  nasal  drawl  of  the 
underbred  City  man. 

120 


*TIIK  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

'When  the  thing's  done  we'll  talk  about  it.  I  can't 
make  anything  of  it  at  present.  Red-haired  or  black- 
haired  heroes  are  equally  difficult.' 

He  was  sitting  by  the  fire  staring  at  the  red  coals.  '  I 
can't  understand  what  you  find  so  difficult.  It's  all  as 
clear  as  mud  to  me,'  he  replied.  A  jet  of  gas  puffed  out 
between  the  bars,  took  light,  and  whistled  softly.  '  Sup- 
pose we  take  the  red-haired  hero's  adventures  first,  from 
the  time  that  he  came  south  to  my  galley  and  captured 
it  and  sailed  to  the  Beaches.' 

I  knew  better  now  than  to  interrupt  Charlie.  I  was 
out  of  reach  of  pen  and  paper,  and  dared  not  move  to  get 
them  lest  I  should  break  the  current.  The  gas-jet  pulled 
and  whinnied,  Charlie's  voice  dropped  almost  to  a  whis- 
per, and  he  told  a  tale  of  the  sailing  of  an  open  galley  to 
Furdurstrandi,  of  sunsets  on  the  open  sea,  seenunderthe 
curve  of  the  one  sail  evening  after  evening  when  the  gal- 
ley's beak  was  notched  into  the  centre  of  the  sinking 
disc,  and  'we  sailed  by  that  for  we  had  no  other  guide,' 
quoth  Charlie.  He  spoke  of  a  landing  on  an  island  and 
explorations  in  its  woods,  where  the  crew  killed  three 
men  whom  they  found  asleep  under  the  pines.  Their 
ghosts,  Charlie  said,  followed  the  galley,  swimming  and 
choking  in  the  water,  and  the  crew  cast  lots  and  threw 
one  of  their  number  overboard  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  strange 
gods  whom  they  had  offended.  Then  they  ate  sea-weed 
when  their  provisions  failed,  and  their  legs  swelled,  and 
their  leader,  the  red-haired  man,  killed  two  rowers  who 
mutinied,  and  after  a  year  spent  among  the  woods  they 
set  sail  for  their  own  country,  and  a  wind  that  never 
failed  carried  them  back  so  safely  that  they  all  slept  at 
night.  This,  and  much  more  Charlie  told.  Sometimes 
the  voice  fell  so  low  that  I  could  not  catch  the  words, 

121 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

though  every  nerve  was  on  the  strain.  He  spoke  of 
their  leader,  the  red-haired  man,  as  a  pagan  speaks  of 
his  God;  for  it  was  he  who  cheered  them  and  slew  them 
impartially  as  he  thought  best  for  their  needs;  and  it 
was  he  who  steered  them  for  three  days  among  floating 
ice,  each  floe  crowded  with  strange  beasts  that  'tried  to 
sail  with  us,'  said  Charlie,  'and  we  beat  them  back  with 
the  handles  of  the  oars.' 

The  gas-jet  went  out,  a  burnt  coal  gave  way,  and  the 
fire  settled  with  a  tiny  crash  to  the  bottom  of  the  grate. 
Charlie  ceased  speaking,  and  I  said  no  word. 

'By  Jove!'  he  said  at  last,  shaking  his  head.  'I've 
been  staring  at  the  fire  till  I'm  dizzy.  What  was  I  go- 
ing to  say? ' 

'Something  about  the  galley-book.' 

'I  remember  now.  It's  twenty-five  per  cent  of  the 
profits,  isn't  it?' 

'  It's  anything  you  like  when  I've  done  the  tale.' 

'  I  wanted  to  be  sure  of  that.  I  must  go  now.  I've — 
I've  an  appointment.'     And  he  left  me. 

Had  not  my  eyes  been  held  I  might  have  known  that 
that  broken  muttering  over  the  fire  was  the  swan-song  of 
Charlie  Mears.  But  I  thought  it  the  prelude  to  fuller 
revelation.  At  last  and  at  last  I  should  cheat  the  Lords 
of  Life  and  Death! 

When  next  Charlie  came  to  me  I  received  him  with 
rapture.  He  was  nervous  and  embarrassed,  but  his 
eyes  were  very  full  of  light,  and  his  lips  a  little  parted. 

*rve  done  a  poem,'  he  said;  and  then,  quickly:  'It's 
the  best  I've  ever  done.  Read  it.'  He  thrust  it  into 
my  hand  and  retreated  to  the  window. 

I  groaned  inwardly.  It  would  be  the  work  of  half  an 
hour  to  criticise — that  is  to  say,  praise — the  poem  suffi- 

122 


'THE  FINEST  STORY  IN  THE  WORLD' 

ciently  to  please  Charlie.  Then  I  had  good  reason  to 
groan,  for  Charlie,  discarding  his  favourite  centipede 
metres,  had  launched  into  shorter  and  choppier  verse, 
and  verse  with  a  motive  at  the  back  of  it.  This  is  what 
I  read : — 

'The  day  is  most  fair,  the  cheery  wind 

Halloos  behind  the  hill. 
Where  he  bends  the  wood  as  seemeth  good, 

And  the  sapling  to  his  will ! 
Riot,  0  wind;  there  is  that  in  my  blood 

That  would  not  have  thee  still! 

*She  gave  me  herself,  0  Earth,  O  Sky; 

Gray  sea,  she  is  mine  alone ! 
Let  the  sullen  boulders  hear  my  cry. 

And  rejoice  tho'  they  be  but  stone! 

'  Mine !     I  have  won  her,  0  good  brown  Earth, 

Make  merry !     'Tis  hard  on  Spring; 
Make  merry — my  love  is  doubly  worth 
All  worship  your  fields  can  bring! 
Let  the  hind  that  tills  you  feel  my  mirth 
At  the  early  harrowing ! ' 

'Yes,  it's  the  early  harrowing,  past  a  doubt,'  I  said, 
with  a  dread  at  my  heart.  Charlie  smiled,  but  did  not 
answer. 

'Red  cloud  of  the  sunset,  tell  it  abroad; 

I  am  victor.     Greet  me,  0  Sun, 
Dominant  master  and  absolute  lord 

Over  the  soul  of  one ! ' 

*  Well? '  said  Charlie,  looking  over  my  shoulder. 

123 


iMANY  INVENTIONS 

I  thought  it  far  from  well,  and  very  evil  indeed,  when 
he  silently  laid  a  photograph  on  the  paper — the  photo- 
graph of  a  girl  with  a  curly  head  and  a  foolish  slack 
mouth. 

'Isn't  it — isn't  it  wonderful?'  he  whispered,  pink  to 
the  tips  of  his  ears,  wrapped  in  the  rosy  mystery  of  first 
love.  'I  didn't  know;  I  didn't  think — it  came  like  a 
thunderclap.' 

'Yes.  It  comes  like  a  thunderclap.  Are  you  very 
happy,  Charlie?' 

'My  God — she — she  loves  me!'  He  sat  down  re- 
peating the  last  words  to  himself.  I  looked  at  the  hairless 
face,  the  narrow  shoulders  already  bowed  by  desk-work, 
and  wondered  when,  where,  and  how  he  had  loved  in  his 
past  lives. 

'  What  will  your  mother  say? '  I  asked  cheerfully. 

'  I  don't  care  a  damn  what  she  says!' 

At  twenty  the  things  for  which  one  does  not  care  a 
damn  should,  properly,  be  many,  but  one  must  not  in- 
clude mothers  in  the  list.  I  told  him  this  gently;  and  he 
described  Her,  even  as  Adam  must  have  described  to  the 
newly-named  beasts  the  glory  and  tenderness  and  beauty 
of  Eve,  Incidentally  I  learned  that  She  was  a  tobac- 
conist's assistant  with  a  weakness  for  pretty  dress,  and 
had  told  him  four  or  five  times  already  that  She  had 
never  been  kissed  by  a  man  before. 

Charlie  spoke  on  and  on,  and  on;  while  I,  separated 
from  him  by  thousands  of  years,  was  considering  the  be- 
ginnings of  things.  Now  I  understood  why  the  Lords 
of  Life  and  Death  shut  the  doors  so  carefully  behind  us. 
It  is  that  we  may  not  remember  our  first  and  most  beau- 
tiful wooings.  Were  this  not  so,  our  world  would  be 
without  inhabitants  in  a  hundred  years. 

124 


'TIII^  FTNi:S'l    STORY  IN  TIIK  WORLD' 

'Now,  about  that  .^alley-story,'  I  said  still  more  cheer- 
fully, in  a  pause  in  the  rush  of  the  speech. 

Charlie  looked  up  as  though  he  had  been  hit.  'The 
galley— what  galley?  Good  heavens,  don't  joke,  man! 
This  is  serious!     You  don't  know  how  serious  it  is!' 

Grish  Chunder  was  right.  Charlie  had  tasted  the 
love  of  woman  that  kills  remembrance,  and  the  finest 
story  in  the  world  would  never  be  written. 


125 


HIS  PRIVATE  HONOUR 

(1891) 

THE  autumn  batch  of  recruits  for  the  Old  Regi- 
ment had  just  been  uncarted.  As  usual  they  were 
said  to  be  the  worst  draft  that  had  ever  come  from 
the  Depot.  Mulvaney  looked  them  over,  grunted  scorn- 
fully, and  immediately  reported  himself  very  sick. 

'Is  it  the  regular  autumn  fever?'  said  the  doctor,  who 
knew  something  of  Terence's  ways.  'Your  tempera- 
ture's normal.' 

'  'Tis  wan  hundred  and  thirty-seven  rookies  to  the 
bad,  sorr.  I'm  not  very  sick  now,  but  I  will  be  dead  if 
these  boys  are  thrown  at  me  in  my  rejuced  condition. 
Doctor,  dear,  supposin'  you  was  in  charge  of  three  cholera 
camps  an' — ' 

'Go  to  hospital  then,  you  old  contriver,'  said  the  doc- 
tor, laughing. 

Terence  bundled  himself  into  a  blue  bedgown, — Dinah 
Shadd  was  away  attending  to  a  major's  lady,  who  pre- 
ferred Dinah  without  a  diploma  to  anybody  else  with  a 
hundred, — put  a  pipe  in  his  teeth,  and  paraded  the  hos- 
pital balcony,  exhorting  Ortheris  to  be  a  father  to  the 
new  recruits. 

'They're  mostly  your  own  sort,  little  man,'  he  said, 
with  a  grin ;  *  the  top-spit  av  Whitechapel.     I  '11  interogue 

126 


HIS  PRIVATE  HONOUR 

them  whin  they're  more  Hke  something  they  never  will 
be, — an'  that's  a  good  honest  soldier  like  me.' 

Ortheris  yapped  indignantly.  He  knew  as  well  as 
Terence  what  the  coming  work  meant,  and  he  thought 
Terence's  conduct  mean.  Then  he  strolled  off  to  look 
at  the  new  cattle,  who  were  staring  at  the  unfamiliar 
landscape  with  large  eyes,  and  asking  if  the  kites  were 
eagles  and  the  pariah-dogs  jackals. 

'Well,  you  are  a  holy  set  of  bean-faced  beggars,  you 
are,'  he  said  genially  to  a  knot  in  the  barrack  square. 
Then,  running  his  eye  over  them, — 'Fried  fish  an' 
whelks  is  about  your  sort.  Blimy  if  they  haven't  sent 
some  pink-eyed  Jews  too.  You  chap  with  the  greasy 
'ed,  which  o'  the  Solomons  was  your  father,  Moses?' 

'My  name's  Anderson,'  said  a  voice  sullenly. 

'Oh,  Samuelson!  All  right,  Samuelson!  An'  'ow 
many  o'  the  likes  o'  you  Sheenies  are  comin'  to  spoil  B 
Company? ' 

There  is  no  scorn  so  complete  as  that  of  the  old  soldier 
for  the  new.  It  is  right  that  this  should  be  so.  A  re- 
cruit must  learn  first  that  he  is  not  a  man  but  a  thing, 
which  in  time,  and  by  the  mercy  of  Heaven,  may  develop 
into  a  soldier  of  the  Queen  if  it  takes  care  and  attends  to 
good  advice.  Ortheris's  tunic  was  open,  his  cap  over- 
lopped  one  eye,  and  his  hands  were  behind  his  back  as  he 
walked  round,  growing  more  contemptuous  at  each  step. 
The  recruits  did  not  dare  to  answer,  for  they  were  new 
boys  in  a  strange  school,  who  had  called  themselves  sol- 
diers at  the  Depot  in  comfortable  England. 

'  Not  a  single  pair  o'  shoulders  in  the  whole  lot.  F ve  seen 
some  bad  drafts  in  my  time, — some  bloomin'  bad  drafts; 
but  this  'ere  draft  beats  any  draft  I've  ever  known.  Jock, 
come  an'  look  at  these  squidgy,  ham-shanked  beggars.' 

127 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Learoyd  was  walking  across  the  square.  He  arrived 
slowly,  circled  round  the  knot  as  a  whale  circles  round 
a  shoal  of  small  fry,  said  nothing,  and  went  away  whis- 
tling. 

'Yes,  you  may  well  look  shcepy,'  Ortheris  squeaked 
to  the  boys.  '  It's  the  likes  of  you  breaks  the  'earts  of 
the  likes  of  us.  We've  got  to  lick  you  into  shape,  and 
never  a  ha'penny  extry  do  we  get  for  so  doin',  and  you 
ain't  never  grateful  neither.  Don't  you  go  thinkin'  it's 
the  Colonel  nor  yet  the  company  orf 'cer  that  makes  you . 
It's  us,  you  Johnnie  Raws — you  Johnnie  bloomin'  Raws!' 

A  company  officer  had  come  up  unperceived  behind 
Ortheris  at  the  end  of  this  oration.  '  Y'ou  may  be  right, 
Ortheris,'  he  said  quietly,  'but  I  shouldn't  shout  it.' 
The  recruits  grinned  as  Ortheris  saluted  and  collapsed. 

Some  days  afterwards  I  was  privileged  to  look  over 
the  new  batch,  and  they  were  everything  that  Ortheris 
had  said,  and  more.  B  Company  had  been  devastated 
by  forty  or  fifty  of  them;  and  B  Company's  drill  on  pa- 
rade was  a  sight  to  shudder  at.  Ortheris  asked  them 
lovingly  whether  they  had  not  been  sent  out  by  mistake, 
and  whether  they  had  not  better  post  themselves  back 
to  their  friends.  Learoyd  thrashed  them  methodically 
one  by  one,  without  haste  but  without  slovenliness;  and 
the  older  soldiers  took  the  remnants  from  Learoyd  and 
went  over  them  in  their  own  fashion.  Mulvaney  stayed 
in  hospital,  and  grinned  from  the  balcony  when  Ortheris 
called  him  a  shirker  and  other  worse  names. 

'By  the  grace  av  God  we'll  brew  men  av  them  yet,' 
Terence  said  one  day.  'Be  vartuous  an'  parsevere,  me 
son.  There's  the  makin's  av  colonels  in  that  mob  if  we 
only  go  deep  enough — wid  a  belt.' 

*\Ve!'  Ortheris  replied,  dancing  with  rage.     'I  just 

128 


TTIS  PRIVATE  ITONOrR 

love  you  and  your  "we's."  ILra'^  B  Company  drillin' 
like  a  drunk  Militia  reg'ment.' 

'So  I've  been  officially  acquent,'  was  the  answer  from 
on  high;  'but  I'm  too  sick  this  tide  to  make  certain.' 

'An'  you,  you  fat  H'irishman,  sniftin'  an'  shirkin'  up 
there  among  the  arrerroot  an'  the  sago!' 

'An'  the  port  wine,—  you've  forgot  the  port  wine,  Or- 
th'ris:  'tis  none  so  l)ad.'  Terence  smacked  his  lips  pro- 
vokingly. 

'And  we're  wore  off  our  feet  wdth  these  'ere — kan- 
garoos. Come  out  o'  that,  an'  earn  your  pay.  Come 
on  down  outer  that,  an'  do  somethin',  'stead  o'  grinnin' 
up  there  like  a  Jew  monkey,  you  frowsy- 'eaded  Fenian !' 

'When  I'm  better  av  my  various  complaints  I'll  have  a 
little  private  talkin'  wid  you.    In  the  meanwhile, — duck ! ' 

Terence  flung  an  empty  medicine  bottle  at  Ortheris's 
head  and  dropped  into  a  long  chair,  and  Ortheris  came 
to  tell  me  his  opinion  of  Mulvaney  three  times  over, — 
each  time  entirely  varying  all  the  words. 

'There'll  be  a  smash  one  o'  these  days,'  he  concluded. 
'Well,  it's  none  o'  my  fault,  but  it's  'ard  on  B  Company.' 

It  was  very  hard  on  B  Company,  for  twenty  seasoned 
men  cannot  push  twice  that  number  of  fools  into  their 
places  and  keep  their  own  places  at  the  same  time.  The 
recruits  should  have  been  more  evenly  distributed  through 
the  regiment,  but  it  seemed  good  to  the  Colonel  to  mass 
them  in  a  company  where  there  was  a  fair  proportion 
of  old  soldiers.  He  found  his  reward  early  one  morn- 
ing when  the  battalion  was  advancing  by  companies  in 
echelon  from  the  right.  The  order  was  given  to  form 
company  scfuares,  which  are  compact  little  bricks  of  men 
very  unpleasant  for  a  line  of  charging  cavalry  to  deal 
with.     B  Company  was  on  the  left  flank,  and  had  ample 

129 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

time  to  know  what  was  going  on.  For  that  reason,  pre- 
sumably, it  gathered  itself  into  a  thing  like  a  decayed 
aloe-clump,  the  bayonets  pointing  anywhere  in  general 
and  nowhere  in  particular;  and  in  that  clump,  roundel, 
or  mob  it  stayed  till  the  dust  had  gone  down  and  the 
Colonel  could  see  and  speak.  He  did  both,  and  the 
speaking  part  was  admitted  by  the  regiment  to  be  the 
finest  thing  that  the  'old  man'  had  ever  risen  to  since 
one  delightful  day  at  a  sham-fight,  when  a  cavalry  divi- 
sion had  occasion  to  walk  over  his  line  of  skirmishers. 
He  said,  almost  w^eeping,  that  he  had  given  no  order  for 
rallying  groups,  and  that  he  preferred  to  see  a  little  dress- 
ing among  the  men  occasionally.  He  then  apologised 
for  having  mistaken  B  Company  for  men.  He  said  that 
they  were  but  little  children  weak,  and  that  since  he 
could  not  offer  them  each  a  perambulator  and  a  nurse- 
maid (this  may  sound  comic  to  read,  but  B  Company 
heard  it  by  word  of  mouth  and  winced)  perhaps  the  best 
thing  for  them  to  do  would  be  to  go  back  to  squad-drill. 
To  that  end  he  proposed  sending  them,  out  of  their  turn, 
to  garrison  duty  in  Fort  Amara,  five  miles  away, — D 
Company  were  next  for  this  detestable  duty  and  nearly 
cheered  the  Colonel.  There  he  devoutly  hoped  that 
their  own  subalterns  would  drill  them  to  death,  as  they 
were  of  no  use  in  their  present  life. 

It  was  an  exceedingly  painful  scene,  and  I  made  haste 
to  be  near  B  Company  barracks  when  parade  was  dis- 
missed and  the  men  were  free  to  talk.  There  was  no 
talking  at  first,  because  each  old  soldier  took  a  new  draft 
and  kicked  him  very  severely.  The  non-commissioned 
officers  had  neither  eyes  nor  ears  for  these  accidents. 
They  left  the  barracks  to  themselves,  and  Ortheris  im- 
proved the  occasion  by  a  speech.     I  did  not  hear  that 

130 


HIS  PRIVATE  HONOUR 

speech,  but  fragments  of  it  were  quoted  for  weeks  after- 
wards. It  covered  the  birth,  parentage,  and  education 
of  every  man  in  the  company  by  name;  it  gave  a  com- 
plete account  of  Fort  Amara  from  a  sanitary  and  social 
point  of  view;  and  it  wound  up  with  an  abstract  of  the 
whole  duty  of  a  soldier,  each  recruit  his  use  in  life,  and 
Ortheris's  views  on  the  use  and  fate  of  the  recruits  of  B 
Company. 

'You  can't  drill,  you  can't  walk,  you  can't  shoot, — 
you, — you  awful  rookies !  Wot's  the  good  of  you?  You 
eats  and  you  sleeps,  and  you  eats,  and  you  goes  to  the 
doctor  for  medicine  when  your  innards  is  out  o'  order  for 
all  the  world  as  if  you  was  bloomin'  generals.  An'  now 
you've  topped  it  all,  you  bats'-eyed  beggars,  with  get- 
ting us  druv  out  to  that  stinkin'  Fort  'Ammerer.  We'll 
fort  you  when  we  get  out  there;  yes,  an'  we'll  'ammer 
you  too.  Don't  you  think  you've  come  into  the  Harmy 
to  drink  Heno,  an'  club  your  comp'ny,  an'  lie  on  your 
cots  an'  scratch  your  fat  heads.  You  can  do  that  at 
'ome  sellin'  matches,  which  is  all  you're  fit  for,  you  keb- 
huntin',  penny-toy,  bootlace,  baggage-tout, 'orse-'oldin', 
sandwich-backed  se-werss,  you.^  I've  spoke  you  as  fair 
as  I  know  'ow,  and  you  give  good  'eed,  'cause  if  Mul- 
vaney  stops  skrimshanking — gets  out  o'  'orspital — when 
we're  in  the  Fort,  I  lay  your  lives  will  be  trouble  to  you.' 

That  was  Ortheris's  peroration,  and  it  caused  B  Com- 
pany to  be  christened  the  Boot-black  Brigade.  With 
this  disgrace  on  their  slack  shoulders  they  went  to  garri- 
son duty  at  Fort  Amara  with  their  officers,  who  were 
under  instructions  to  twist  their  little  tails.  The  army, 
unlike  every  other  profession,  cannot  be  taught  through 

^Ortheris  meant  'soors' — which  means  pigs. 
131 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

shilling  books.  First  a  man  must  suiTer,  then  he  must 
learn  his  work,  and  the  self-respect  that  that  knowledge 
brings.  The  learning  is  hard,  in  a  land  where  the  army 
is  not  a  red  thing  that  walks  down  the  street  to  be  looked 
at,  but  a  living  tramping  reahty  that  may  be  needed  at 
the  shortest  notice,  when  there  is  no  time  to  say,  'Hadn't 
you  better?'  and  'Won't  you  please?' 

The  company  officers  divided  themselves  into  three. 
When  Brander  the  captain  was  wearied,  he  gave  over  to 
Maydew,  and  when  Maydew  was  hoarse  he  ordered  the 
junior  subaltern  Ouless  to  bucket  the  men  through  squad 
and  company  drill,  till  Brander  could  go  on  again.  Out 
of  parade  hours  the  old  soldiers  spoke  to  the  recruits  as 
old  soldiers  will,  and  between  the  four  forces  at  work  on 
them,  the  new  draft  began  to  stand  on  their  feet  and  feel 
that  they  belonged  to  a  good  and  honourable  service. 
This  was  proved  by  their  once  or  twice  resenting  Or- 
theris's  technical  lectures. 

*  Drop  it  now,  lad,'  said  Learoyd,  coming  to  the  rescue. 
'Th'  pups  are  biting  back.  They're  none  so  rotten  as 
we  looked  for.' 

'  Ho !  Yuss !  You  think  yourself  soldiers  now,  'cause 
you  don't  fall  over  each  other  on  p'rade,  don't  you? 
You  think  'cause  the  dirt  don't  cake  off  you  week's  end 
to  week's  end  that  you're  clean  men.  You  think  'cause 
you  can  fire  your  rifle  without  more  nor  shuttin'  both 
eyes,  you're  something  to  fight,  don't  you?  You'll  know 
later  on,'  said  Ortheris  to  the  barrack-room  generally. 
'Not  but  what  you're  a  little  better  than  you  was,'  he 
added,  with  a  gracious  wave  of  his  cutty. 

It  was  in  this  transition-stage  that  I  came  across  the 
new  draft  once  more.  Their  officers,  in  the  zeal  of  youth 
forgetting  that  the  old  soldiers  who  stiffened  the  sections 

132 


HIS  PRIVATE  HONOUR 

must  suffer  equally  with  the  raw  material  under  ham- 
mering, had  made  all  a  little  stale  and  unhandy  with 
continuous  drill  in  the  square,  instead  of  marching  the 
men  into  the  open,  and  supplying  them  with  skirmishing 
drill.  The  month  of  garrison-duty  in  the  Fort  was  nearly 
at  an  end,  and  B  Company  were  quite  fit  for  a  self-re- 
specting regiment  to  drill  with.  They  had  no  style  or 
spring, — that  would  come  in  time, — but  so  far  as  they 
went  they  were  passable.  I  met  Maydew  one  day  and 
inquired  after  their  health.  He  told  me  that  young 
Ouless  was  putting  a  polish  on  a  half-company  of  them 
in  the  great  square  by  the  east  bastion  of  the  Fort  that 
afternoon.  Because  the  day  was  Saturday  I  went  off  to 
taste  the  full  beauty  of  leisure  in  watching  another  man 
hard  at  work. 

The  fat  forty-pound  muzzle-loaders  on  the  east  bas- 
tion made  a  very  comfortable  resting-place.  You  could 
sprawl  full  length  on  the  iron  warmed  by  the  afternoon 
sun  to  blood  heat,  and  command  an  easy  view  of  the 
parade-ground  which  lay  between  the  powder-magazine 
and  the  curtain  of  the  bastion. 

I  saw  a  half-company  called  over  and  told  off  for  drill, 
saw  Ouless  come  from  his  quarters,  tugging  at  his  gloves, 
and  heard  the  first  '  'Shun!'  that  locks  the  ranks  and 
shows  that  work  has  begun.  Then  I  went  off  on  my 
own  thoughts;  the  squeaking  of  the  boots  and  the  rattle 
of  the  rifles  making  a  good  accompaniment,  and  the  line 
of  red  coats  and  black  trousers  a  suitable  background  to 
them  all.  They  concerned  the  formation  of  a  territorial 
army  for  India, — an  army  of  specially  paid  men  enlisted 
for  twelve  years'  service  in  Her  Majesty's  Indian  posses- 
sions, with  the  option  of  extending  on  medical  certificate 
for  another  five  and  the  certainty  of  a  pension  at  the  end. 

133 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

They  would  be  such  an  army  as  the  world  had  never 
seen, — one  hundred  thousand  trained  men  drawing  an- 
nually five,  no,  fifteen  thousand  men  from  England,  mak- 
ing India  their  home,  and  allowed  to  marry  in  reason. 
Yes,  I  thought,  watching  the  line  shift  to  and  fro,  break 
and  re-form,  we  would  buy  back  Cashmere  from  the 
drunken  imbecile  who  was  turning  it  into  a  hell,  and 
there  we  would  plant  our  much-married  regiments, — 
the  men  who  had  served  ten  years  of  their  time, — and 
there  they  should  breed  us  white  soldiers,  and  perhaps  a 
second  fighting-line  of  Eurasians.  At  all  events  Cash- 
mere was  the  only  place  in  India  that  the  Englishman 
could  colonise,  and  if  we  had  foothold  there  we  could 
.  .  .  Oh,  it  was  a  beautiful  dream!  I  left  that 
territorial  army  swelled  to  a  quarter  of  a  million  men  far 
behind,  swept  on  as  far  as  an  independent  India,  hiring 
warships  from  the  mother-country,  guarding  Aden  on 
the  one  side  and  Singapore  on  the  other,  paying  interest 
on  her  loans  with  beautiful  regularity,  but  borrowing  no 
men  from  beyond  her  own  borders — a  colonised,  manu- 
facturing India  with  a  permanent  surplus  and  her  own 
flag.  I  had  just  installed  myself  as  Viceroy,  and  by 
virtue  of  my  office  had  shipped  four  million  sturdy  thrifty 
natives  to  the  Malayan  Archipelago,  where  labour  is 
always  wanted  and  the  Chinese  pour  in  too  quickly, 
when  I  became  aware  that  things  were  not  going  smoothly 
with  the  half-company.  There  was  a  great  deal  too 
much  shuffling  and  shifting  and  '  as  you  were'-ing.  The 
non-commissioned  officers  were  snapping  at  the  men,  and 
I  fancied  Ouless  backed  one  of  his  orders  with  an  oath. 
He  was  in  no  position  to  do  this,  because  he  was  a  junior 
who  had  not  yet  learned  to  pitch  his  word  of  command 
in  the  same  key  twice  running.     Sometimes  he  squeaked, 

134 


HIS  PRIVATE  HONOUR 

and  sometimes  he  grunted;  and  a  clear  full  voice  with  a 
ring  in  it  has  more  to  do  with  drill  than  people  think. 
He  was  nervous  both  on  parade  and  in  mess,  because  he 
was  unproven  and  knew  it.  One  of  his  majors  had  said 
in  his  hearing,  '  Ouless  has  a  skin  or  two  to  slough  yet, 
and  he  hasn't  the  sense  to  be  aware  of  it.'  That  remark 
had  stayed  in  Ouless's  mind  and  caused  him  to  think 
about  himself  in  little  things,  which  is  not  the  best  train- 
ing for  a  young  man.  He  tried  to  be  cordial  at  mess, 
and  became  over-effusive.  Then  he  tried  to  stand  on 
his  dignity,  and  appeared  sulky  and  boorish.  He  was 
only  hunting  for  the  just  medium  and  the  proper  note, 
and  had  found  neither  because  he  had  never  faced  him- 
self in  a  big  thing.  With  his  men  he  was  as  ill  at  ease  as 
he  was  with  his  mess,  and  his  voice  betrayed  him.  I 
heard  two  orders  and  then: — 'Sergeant,  what  is  that 
rear-rank  man  doing,  damn  him? '  That  was  sufficiently 
bad.  A  company  officer  ought  not  to  ask  sergeants  for 
information.  He  commands,  and  commands  are  not 
held  by  syndicates. 

It  was  too  dusty  to  see  the  drill  accurately,  but  I  could 
hear  the  excited  little  voice  pitching  from  octave  to  oc- 
tave, and  the  uneasy  ripple  of  badgered  or  bad-tempered 
files  running  down  the  ranks.  Ouless  had  come  on 
parade  as  sick  of  his  duty  as  were  the  men  of  theirs.  The 
hot  sun  had  told  on  everybody's  temper,  but  most  of  all 
on  the  youngest  man's.  He  had  evidently  lost  his  self- 
control,  and  not  possessing  the  nerve  or  the  knowledge 
to  break  off  till  he  had  recovered  it  again,  was  making 
bad  worse  by  ill-language. 

The  men  shifted  their  ground  and  came  close  under 
the  gun  I  was  lying  on.  They  were  wheeling  quarter- 
right  and  they  did  it  very  badly,  in  the  natural  hope  of 

135 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

hearing  Ouless  swear  again.  He  could  have  taught 
them  nothing  new,  but  they  enjoyed  the  exhibition. 
Instead  of  swearing  Ouless  lost  his  head  completely,  and 
struck  out  nervously  at  the  wheeling  flank-man  with  a 
little  Malacca  riding-cane,  that  he  held  in  his  hand  for  a 
pointer.  The  cane  was  topped  with  thin  silver  over  lac- 
quer, and  the  silver  had  worn  through  in  one  place,  leav- 
ing a  triangular  flap  sticking  up.  I  had  just  time  to  see 
that  Ouless  had  thrown  away  his  commission  by  striking 
a  soldier,  when  I  heard  the  rip  of  cloth  and  a  piece  of 
gray  shirt  showed  under  the  torn  scarlet  on  the  man's 
shoulder.  It  had  been  the  merest  nervous  flick  of  an 
exasperated  boy,  but  quite  enough  to  forfeit  his  com- 
mission, since  it  had  been  dealt  in  anger  to  a  volunteer 
and  no  pressed  man,  who  could  not  under  the  rules  of 
the  Service  reply.  The  eflect  of  it,  thanks  to  the  natural 
depravity  of  things,  was  as  though  Ouless  had  cut  the 
man's  coat  off  his  back.  Knowing  the  new  draft  by 
reputation,  I  was  fairly  certain  that  every  one  of  them 
would  swear  with  many  oaths  that  Ouless  had  actually 
thrashed  the  man.  In  that  case  Ouless  would  do  well  to 
pack  his  trunk.  His  career  as  a  servant  of  the  Queen  in 
any  capacity  was  ended.  The  wheel  continued,  and  the 
men  halted  and  dressed  immediately  opposite  my  rest- 
ing-place. Ouless's  face  was  perfectly  bloodless.  The 
flanking  man  was  a  dark  red,  and  I  could  see  his  lips 
moving  in  wicked  words.  He  was  Ortheris!  After 
seven  years'  service  and  three  medals,  he  had  been  struck 
by  a  boy  younger  than  himself!  Further,  he  was  my 
friend  and  a  good  man,  a  proved  man,  and  an  English- 
man. The  shame  of  the  thing  made  me  as  hot  as  it 
made  Ouless  cold,  and  if  Ortheris  had  slipped  in  a  car- 
tridge and  cleared  the  account  at  once  I  should  have 

136 


HIS  PRIVATE  HONOUR 

rejoiced.  The  fact  that  Ortheris,  of  all  men,  had  been 
struck,  proved  that  the  boy  could  not  have  known  whom 
he  was  hitting;  but  he  should  have  remembered  that  he 
was  no  longer  a  boy.  And  then  I  was  sorry  for  him,  and 
then  I  was  angry  again,  and  Ortheris  stared  in  front  of 
him  and  grew  redder  and  redder. 

The  drill  halted  for  a  moment.  No  one  knew  why,  for 
not  three  men  could  have  seen  the  insult,  the  wheel  being 
end-on  to  Ouless  at  the  time.  Then,  led,  I  conceived,  by 
the  hand  of  Fate,  Brander,  the  captain,  crossed  the  drill- 
ground,  and  his  eye  was  caught  by  not  more  than  a  square 
foot  of  gray  shirt  over  a  shoulder-blade  that  should  have 
been  covered  by  well-fitting  tunic. 

'Heavens and  earth!'  he  said,  crossing  in  three  strides. 
'Do  you  let  your  men  come  on  parade  in  rags,  sir? 
What's  that  scarecrow  doing  here?  Fall  out,  that  flank- 
man.  What  do  you  mean  by — You,  Ortheris!  of  all 
men.     What  the  deuce  do  you  mean? ' 

*Beg  y'  pardon,  sir,'  said  Ortheris.  'I  scratched  it 
against  the  guard-gate  running  up  to  parade.' 

'Scratched  it!  Ripped  it  up,  you  mean.  It's  half 
off  your  back.' 

'  It  was  a  little  tear  at  first,  sir,  but  in  portin'  arms  it 
got  stretched,  sir,  an' — an'  I  can't  look  be'ind  me — I  felt 
it  givin',  sir.' 

'Hm!'  said  Brander.  'I  should  think  you  did  feel  it 
give.  I  thought  it  was  one  of  the  new  draft.  You've 
a  good  pair  of  shoulders.     Go  on ! ' 

He  turned  to  go.  Ouless  stepped  after  him,  very  white, 
and  said  something  in  a  low  voice. 

'Hey,  what?  What?  Ortheris,' the  voice  dropped.  I 
saw  Ortheris  salute,  say  something,  and  stand  at  atten- 
tion. 

137 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

*  Dismiss,'  said  Brander  curtly.  The  men  were  dis- 
missed. '  I  can't  make  this  out.  You  say — ? '  he  nodded 
at  Ouless,  who  said  something  again.  Ortheris  stood 
still,  the  torn  flap  of  his  tunic  falling  nearly  to  his  waist- 
belt.  He  had,  as  Brander  said,  a  good  pair  of  shoulders, 
and  prided  himself  on  the  fit  of  his  tunic. 

'Beg  y'  pardon,  sir,'  I  heard  him  say,  'but  I  think 
Lieutenant  Ouless  has  been  in  the  sun  too  long.  He 
don't  quite  remember  things,  sir.  I  come  on  p'rade  with 
a  bit  of  a  rip,  and  it  spread,  sir,  through  portin'  arms,  as 
I  'ave  said,  sir.' 

Brander  looked  from  one  face  to  the  other  and  I  sup- 
pose drew  his  own  conclusions,  for  he  told  Ortheris  to  go 
with  the  other  men  who  were  flocking  back  to  barracks. 
Then  he  spoke  to  Ouless  and  went  away,  leaving  the  boy 
in  the  middle  of  the  parade-ground  fumbling  with  his 
sword-knot. 

Ouless  looked  up,  saw  me  lying  on  the  gun,  and  came 
to  me  biting  the  back  of  his  gloved  forefinger,  so  com- 
pletely thrown  off  his  balance  that  he  had  not  sense 
enough  to  keep  his  trouble  to  himself. 

'  I  say,  you  saw  that,  I  suppose? '  He  jerked  his  head 
back  to  the  square,  where  the  dust  left  by  the  departing 
men  was  settling  down  in  white  circles. 

'  I  did,'  I  answered,  for  I  was  not  feeling  polite. 

'What  the  devil  ought  I  to  do?'  He  bit  his  finger 
again.     *  I  told  Brander  what  I  had  done.     I  hit  him.' 

'I'm  perfectly  aware  of  that,'  I  said,  'and  I  don't  sup- 
pose Ortheris  has  forgotten  it  already.' 

'Ye — es;  but  I'm  dashed  if  I  know  what  I  ought  to  do. 
Exchange  into  another  company,  I  suppose.  I  can't 
ask  the  man  to  exchange,  I  suppose.     Hey?' 

The  suggestion  showed  the  glimmerings  of  proper 

138 


HIS  PRIVATE  HONOUR 

sense,  but  he  should  not  have  come  to  me  or  any  one  else 
for  help.  It  was  his  own  affair,  and  I  told  him  so.  He 
seemed  unconvinced,  and  began  to  talk  of  the  possibili- 
ties of  being  cashiered.  At  this  point  the  spirit  moved 
me,  on  behalf  of  the  unavenged  Ortheris,  to  paint  him  a 
beautiful  picture  of  his  insignificance  in  the  scheme  of 
creation.  He  had  a  papa  and  a  mamma  seven  thousand 
miles  away,  and  perhaps  some  friends.  They  would  feel 
his  disgrace,  but  no  one  else  would  care  a  penny.  He 
would  be  only  Lieutenant  Ouless  of  the  Old  Regiment 
dismissed  the  Queen's  service  for  conduct  unbecoming 
an  officer  and  a  gentleman.  The  Commander-in-Chief, 
who  would  confirm  the  orders  of  the  court-martial,  would 
not  know  who  he  was;  his  mess  would  not  speak  of  him; 
he  would  return  to  Bombay,  if  he  had  money  enough  to 
go  home,  more  alone  than  when  he  had  come  out.  Fi- 
nally,— I  rounded  the  sketch  with  precision, — he  was 
only  one  tiny  dab  of  red  in  the  vast  gray  field  of  the  In- 
dian Empire.  He  must  work  this  crisis  out  alone,  and 
no  one  could  help  him,  and  no  one  cared — (this  was  un- 
true, because  I  cared  immensely:  he  had  spoken  the 
truth  to  Brander  on  the  spot) — whether  he  pulled  through 
it  or  did  not  pull  through  it.  At  last  his  face  set  and  his 
figure  stiffened. 

'Thanks,  that's  quite  enough.  I  don't  want  to  hear 
any  more,'  he  said  in  a  dry  grating  voice,  and  went  to  his 
own  quarters. 

Brander  spoke  to  me  afterwards  and  asked  me  some 
absurd  question  as  to  whether  I  had  seen  Ouless  cut  the 
coat  off  Ortheris's  back.  I  knew  that  jagged  sliver  of 
silver  would  do  its  work  well,  but  I  contrived  to  impress 
on  Brander  the  completeness,  the  wonderful  complete- 
ness, of  my  disassociation  from  that  drill.     I  began  to 

139 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

tell  him  all  about  my  dreams  for  the  new  territorial  army 
in  India,  and  he  left  me. 

I  could  not  see  Ortheris  for  some  days,  but  I  learnt 
that  when  he  returned  to  his  fellows  he  had  told  the  story 
of  the  blow  in  vivid  language.  Samuelson,  the  Jew,  then 
asserted  that  it  was  not  good  enough  to  live  in  a  regi- 
ment where  you  were  drilled  off  your  feet  and  knocked 
about  like  a  dog.  The  remark  was  a  perfectly  innocent 
one,  and  exactly  tallied  with  Ortheris's  expressed  opin- 
ions. Yet  Ortheris  had  called  Samuelson  an  unmen- 
tionable Jew,  had  accused  him  of  kicking  women  on  the 
head  in  London,  and  howling  under  the  cat,  had  hustled 
him,  as  a  bantam  hustles  a  barn-door  cock,  from  one  end 
of  the  barrack-room  to  the  other,  and  finally  had  heaved 
every  single  article  of  Samuelson's  valise  and  bedding- 
roll  into  the  veranda  and  the  outer  dirt,  kicking  Samuel- 
son every  time  that  the  bewildered  creature  stooped  to 
pick  anything  up.  My  informant  could  not  account  for 
this  inconsistency,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  Ortheris 
was  working  off  his  temper. 

Mulvaney  had  heard  the  story  in  hospital.  First  his 
face  clouded,  then  he  spat,  and  then  laughed.  I  sug- 
gested that  he  had  better  return  to  active  duty,  but  he 
saw  it  in  another  light,  and  told  me  that  Ortheris  was 
quite  capable  of  looking  after  himself  and  his  own  affairs. 
'An'  if  I  did  come  out,'  said  Terence,  'like  as  not  I  would 
be  catchin'  young  Ouless  by  the  scruff  av  his  trousies  an' 
makin'  an  example  av  him  before  the  men.  Whin  Dinah 
came  back  I  would  be  under  court-martial,  an'  all  for 
the  sake  av  a  little  bit  av  a  bhoy  that'll  make  an  orf'cer 
yet.     What's  he  goin'  to  do,  sorr,  do  ye  know?' 

'Which?' said  I. 

'  Ouless,  av  course.     I've  no  fear  for  the  liian.    Begad, 

140 


HIS  PRIVATE  HONOUR 

tho',  if  ut  had  come  to  me — but  ut  could  not  have  so 
come — I'd  ha'  made  him  cut  his  wisdom-teeth  on  his 
own  sword-hilt.' 

'  I  don't  think  he  knows  himself  what  he  means  to  do,' 
I  said. 

*  I  should  not  wonder,'  said  Terence.  'There's  a  dale 
av  thinkin'  before  a  young  man  whin  he's  done  wrong 
an'  knows  ut,  an'  is  studyin'  how  to  put  ut  right.  Give 
the  word  from  me  to  our  little  man  there,  that  if  he  had 
ha'  told  on  his  shuperior  orf'cer  I'd  ha'  come  out  to  Fort 
Am.ara  to  kick  him  into  the  Fort  ditch,  an'  that's  a  forty- 
fut  drop.' 

Ortheris  was  not  in  good  condition  to  talk  to.  He 
wandered  up  and  down  with  Learoyd  brooding,  so  far  as 
I  could  see,  over  his  lost  honour,  and  using,  as  I  could 
hear,  incendiary  language.  Learoyd  would  nod  and 
spit  and  smoke  and  nod  again,  and  he  must  have  been 
a  great  comfort  to  Ortheris — almost  as  great  a  comfort 
as  Samuelson,  whom  Ortheris  bullied  disgracefully.  If 
the  Jew  opened  his  mouth  in  the  most  casual  remark 
Ortheris  would  plunge  down  it  with  all  arms  and  accou- 
trements, while  the  barrack-room  stared  and  wondered. 

Ouless  had  retired  into  himself  to  meditate.  I  saw 
him  now  and  again,  and  he  avoided  me  because  I  had 
witnessed  his  shame  and  spoken  my  mind  on  it.  He 
seemed  dull  and  moody,  and  found  his  half-company 
anything  but  pleasant  to  drill.  The  men  did  their  work 
and  gave  him  very  little  trouble,  but  just  when  they 
should  have  been  feeling  their  feet,  and  showing  that 
they  felt  them  by  spring  and  swing  and  snap,  the  elas- 
ticity died  out  and  it  was  only  drilling  with  war-game 
blocks.  There  is  a  beautiful  little  ripple  in  a  well-made 
line  of  men,  exactly  like  the  play  of  a  perfectly-tempered 

141 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

sword.  Ouless's  half-company  moved  as  a  broom-stick 
moves,  and  would  have  broken  as  easily. 

I  was  speculating  whether  Ouless  had  sent  money  to 
Ortheris,  which  would  have  been  bad,  or  had  apologised 
to  him  in  private,  which  would  have  been  w^orse,  or  had 
decided  to  let  the  whole  affair  slide,  which  would  have 
been  worst  of  all,  when  orders  came  to  me  to  leave  the 
station  for  a  while.  I  had  not  spoken  directly  to  Ortheris, 
for  his  honour  was  not  my  honour,  and  he  was  its  only 
guardian,  and  he  would  not  say  anything  except  bad 
words. 

I  went  away,  and  from  time  to  time  thought  a  great 
deal  of  that  subaltern  and  that  private  in  Fort  Amara, 
and  wondered  what  would  be  the  upshot  of  everything. 

When  I  returned  it  was  early  spring.  B  Company 
had  been  shifted  from  the  Fort  to  regular  duty  in  can- 
tonments, the  roses  were  getting  ready  to  bud  on  the 
Mall,  and  the  regiment,  which  had  been  at  a  camp  of 
exercise  among  other  things,  was  going  through  its 
spring  musketry-course  under  an  adjutant  who  had  a 
notion  that  its  shooting  average  was  low.  He  had  stirred 
up  the  company  officers  and  they  had  bought  extra  am- 
munition for  their  men — the  Government  allowance  is 
just  sufficient  to  foul  the  rifling — and  E  Company,  which 
counted  many  marksmen,  was  vapouring  and  offering 
to  challenge  all  the  other  companies,  and  the  third-class 
shots  were  very  sorry  that  they  had  ever  been  born,  and 
all  the  subalterns  were  a  rich  ripe  saddle-colour  from 
sitting  at  the  butts  six  and  eight  hours  a  day. 

I  went  off  to  the  butts  after  breakfast  very  full  of 
curiosity  to  see  how  the  new  draft  had  come  forward. 
Ouless  was  there  with  his  men  by  the  bald  hillock  that 
marks  the  six  hundred  yards'  range,  and  the  men  were 

142 


HIS  PRIVATE  HONOUR 

in  gray-green  khaki,  that  shows  the  best  points  of  a  sol- 
dier and  shades  off  into  every  background  he  may  stand 
against.  Before  I  was  in  hearing  distance  I  could  see, 
as  they  sprawled  on  the  dusty  grass,  or  stood  up  and 
shook  themselves,  that  they  were  men  made  over  again 
— wearing  their  helmets  with  the  cock  of  self-possession, 
swinging  easily,  and  jumping  to  the  word  of  command. 
Coming  nearer,  I  heard  Ouless  whistling  'Ballyhooly' 
between  his  teeth  as  he  looked  down  the  range  with  his 
binoculars,  and  the  back  of  Lieutenant  Ouless  was  the 
back  of  a  free  man  and  an  officer.  He  nodded  as  I 
came  up,  and  I  heard  him  fling  an  order  to  a  non-com- 
missioned officer  in  a  sure  and  certain  voice.  The  flag 
ran  up  from  the  target,  and  Ortheris  threw  himself  down 
on  his  stomach  to  put  in  his  ten  shots.  He  winked  at 
me  over  the  breech-block  as  he  settled  himself,  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  has  to  go  through  tricks  for  the  benefit 
of  children. 

'Watch,  you  men,'  said  Ouless  to  the  squad  behind. 
'He's  half  your  weight,  Brannigan,  but  he  isn't  afraid  of 
his  rifle.' 

Ortheris  had  his  little  affectations  and  pet  ways  as 
the  rest  of  us  have.  He  weighed  his  rifle,  gave  it  a  little 
kick-up,  cuddled  down  again,  and  fired  across  the  ground 
that  was  beginning  to  dance  in  the  sun-heat. 

*Miss!'  said  a  man  behind. 

'Too  much  bloomin'  background  in  front,'  Ortheris 
muttered. 

'I  should  allow  two  feet  for  refraction,'  said  Ouless. 

Ortheris  fired  again,  made  his  outer,  crept  in,  found 
the  bull  and  stayed  there ;  the  non-commissioned  officer 
pricking  off  the  shots. 

*  Can't  make  out  'ow  I  missed  that  first,'  he  said,  ris- 

143 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

ing,  and  stepping  back  to  my  side,  as  Learoyd  took  his 
place. 

'Is  it  company  practice?'  I  asked. 

'No.  Only  just  knockin'  about.  Ouless,  'e's  givin' 
ten  rupees  for  second-class  shots.  I'm  outer  it,  of  course, 
but  I  come  on  to  show  'em  the  proper  style  o'  doin'  things. 
Jock  looks  like  a  sea-lion  at  the  Brighton  Aquarium 
sprawlin'  an'  crawlin'  down  there,  don't  'e?  Gawd, 
what  a  butt  this  end  of  'im  would  make.' 

'B  Company  has  come  up  very  well,'  I  said. 

'They  'ad  to.  They're  none  so  dusty  now,  are  they? 
Samuelson  even,  'e  can  shoot  sometimes.  We're  gettin' 
on  as  well  as  can  be  expected,  thank  you.' 

'  How  do  you  get  on  with — ? ' 

'Oh,  'im!  First-rate!  There's  nothin'  wrong  with 
'im.' 

'Was  it  all  settled  then?' 

'  'Asn't  Terence  told  you?  I  should  say  it  was.  'E's 
a  gentleman,  'e  is.' 

'Let's  hear,'  I  said. 

Ortheris  twinkled  all  over,  tucked  his  rifle  across  his 
knees  and  repeated,  '  'E's  a  gentleman.  'E's  an  ofTicer 
too.  You  saw  all  that  mess  in  Fort  'Ammerer.  'Twasn't 
none  o'  my  fault,  as  you  can  guess.  Only  some  goat  in 
the  drill  judged  it  was  be'yaviour  or  something  to  play 
the  fool  on  p'rade.  That's  why  we  drilled  so  bad. 
When  'e  'it  me,  I  was  so  took  aback  I  couldn't  do 
nothing,  an'  when  I  wished  for  to  knock  'im  down  the 
wheel  'ad  gone  on,  an'  I  was  facin'  you  there  lyin'  on  the 
guns.  After  the  captain  had  come  up  an'  was  raggin' 
me  about  my  tunic  bein'  tore,  I  saw  the  young  beggar's 
eye,  an'  'fore  I  could  'elp  myself  I  begun  to  lie  like  a 
good  'un.     You  'eard  that?     It  was  quite  instinkive, 

144 


HIS  PRIVATE  HONOUR 

but,  my !  I  was  in  a  lather.  Then  he  said  to  the  captain, 
"I  struck  'im!"  sez  'e,  'an'  I  'card  Brander  whistle,  an' 
then  I  come  out  with  a  new  set  o'  Hes  all  about  portin' 
arms  an'  'ow  the  rip  growed,  same  as  you  'card.  I  done 
that  too  before  I  knew  where  I  was.  Then  I  give  Sam- 
uelson  what-for  in  barricks  when  he  was  dismissed. 
You  should  ha'  seen  'is  kit  by  the  time  I'd  finished  with 
it.  It  was  all  over  the  bloomin'  Fort!  Then  me  an' 
Jock  went  off  to  Mulvaney  in  'orspital,  five-mile  walk, 
an'  I  was  hoppin'  mad.  Ouless,  'e  knowed  it  was  court- 
martial  for  me  if  I  'it  'im  back — 'e  must  ha'  knowed. 
Well,  I  sez  to  Terence,  whisperin'  under  the  'orspital 
balcony — "Terence,"  sez  I,  "what  in  'ell  am  I  to  do?" 
I  told  'im  all  about  the  row  same  as  you  saw.  Terence 
'e  whistles  hke  a  bloomin'  old  bullfinch  up  there  in  'orspi- 
tal, an'  'e  sez,  "Youain'tto blame,"  sez  'e.  "  'Strewth," 
sez  I,  "d'you  suppose  I've  come  'ere  five  mile  in  the  sun 
to  take  blame?"  I  sez.  "I  want  that  young  beggar's 
hide  took  off.  I  ain't  a  bloomin'  conscrip',"  I  sez, 
"I'm  a  private  servin'  of  the  Queen,  an'  as  good  a  man 
as  'e  is,"  I  sez,  "for  all  'is  commission  an'  'is  airs  an'  'is 
money,"  sez  I.' 

'What  a  fool  you  were,'  I  interrupted.  Ortheris,  be- 
ing neither  a  menial  nor  an  American,  but  a  free  man, 
had  no  excuse  for  yelping. 

'  That's  exactly  what  Terence  said.  I  wonder  you  set 
it  the  same  way  so  pat  if  'e  'asn't  been  talkin'  to  you. 
'E  sez  to  me — "You  ought  to  'ave  more  sense,"  'e  sez, 
"at  your  time  of  life.  What  differ  do  it  make  to  you," 
'e  sez,  "whether  'e  'as  a  commission  or  no  commission? 
That's  none  o'  your  affair.  It's  between  man  an'  man," 
'e  sez,  "if  'e  'eld  a  general's  commission.  Moreover," 
'e  sez,  "you  don't  look  'andsome  'oppin'  about  on  your 

145 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

*ind  legs  like  that.  Take  him  away,  Jock."  Then  'e 
went  inside,  an'  that's  all  I  got  outer  Terence.  Jock,  'e 
sez  as  slow  as  a  march  in  slow  time, — "Stanley,"  'e  sez, 
"that  young  beggar  didn't  go  for  to  'it  you."  "  I  don't 
give  a  damn  whether  'e  did  or  'e  didn't.  'It  me  'e  did," 
I  sez.  "Then  you've  only  got  to  report  to  Brander," 
sez  Jock.  "What  d'yer  take  me  for?"  I  sez,  as  I  was  so 
mad  I  nearly  'it  Jock.  An'  he  got  me  by  the  neck  an' 
shoved  my  'ead  into  a  bucket  o'  water  in  the  cook-'ouse 
an'  then  we  went  back  to  the  Fort,  an'  I  give  Samuelson 
a  little  more  trouble  with 'is  kit.  'E  sez  to  me, "  I  haven't 
been  strook  without  'ittin'  back."  "Well,  you're  goin' 
to  be  now,"  I  sez,  an'  I  give  'im  one  or  two  for  'isself, 
an'  arxed  'im  very  polite  to  'it  back,  but  he  didn't.  I'd 
ha'  killed  'im  if  'e  'ad.     That  done  me  a  lot  o'  good. 

'  Ouless  'e  didn't  make  no  show  for  some  days, — not 
till  after  you  was  gone ;  an'  I  was  f eelin'  sick  an'  miser- 
able, an'  didn't  know  what  I  wanted,  'cept  to  black  his 
little  eyes  good.  I  'oped  'e  might  send  me  some  money 
for  my  tunic.  Then  I'd  ha'  had  it  out  with  him  on 
p'rade  and  took  my  chance.  Terence  was  in  'orspital 
still,  you  see,  an'  'e  wouldn't  give  me  no  advice. 

*The  day  after  you  left,  Ouless  come  across  me  carry- 
ing a  bucket  on  fatigue,  an'  'e  sez  to  me  very  quietly, 
"Ortheris,  you've  got  to  come  out  shootin'  with  me,"  'e 
sez.  I  felt  like  to  bunging  the  bucket  in  'is  eye,  but  I 
didn't.  I  got  ready  to  go  instead.  Oh,  'e's  a  gentle- 
man !  We  went  out  together,  neither  sayin'  nothin'  to 
the  other  till  we  was  well  out  into  the  jungle  beyond  the 
river  with  'igh  grass  all  round, — pretty  near  that  place 
where  I  went  off  my  'ead  with  you.  Then  'e  puts  his 
gun  down  an'  sez  very  quietly :  "  Ortheris,  I  strook  you 
on  p'rade,"  'e sez.     "Yes,  sir,"  sez  I,  "you  did."     "I've 

146 


HIS  PRIVATE  HONOUR 

been  studying  it  out  by  myself,"  'e  sez.  "  Oh,  you  'ave, 
'ave  you?"  sez  I  to  myself,  "an  a  nice  time  you've  been 
about  it,  you  bun-faced  little  beggar."  "Yes,  sir,"  sez 
I.  "What  made  you  screen  me?"  'e  sez.  "I  don't 
know,"  I  sez,  an'  no  more  I  did,  nor  do.  "I  can't  ask 
you  to  exchange,"  'e  sez.  "An'  I  don't  want  to  ex- 
change myself,"  sez  'e.  "  What's  comin'  now? "  I  thinks 
to  myself.  "Yes,  sir,"  sez  I.  He  looks  round  at  the 
'igh  grass  all  about,  an'  'e  sez  to  himself  more  than  to 
me, — "  I've  got  to  go  through  it  alone,  by  myself!"  'E 
looked  so  queer  for  a  minute  that,  s'elp  me,  I  thought 
the  little  beggar  was  going  to  pray.  Then  he  turned 
round  again  an'  'e  sez,  "What  do  you  think  yourself?" 
'e  sez.  "I  don't  quite  see  what  you  mean,  sir,"  I  sez. 
"What  would  you  hke?"  'e  sez.  An'  I  thought  for  a 
minute  'e  was  goin'  to  give  me  money,  but  'e  run  'is 
'and  up  to  the  top-button  of  'is  shootin'  coat  an'  loosed 
it.  "Thank  you,  sir,"  I  sez.  "I'd  hke  that  very  well," 
I  sez,  an'  both  our  coats  was  off  an'  put  down.' 

'  Hooray ! '  I  shouted  incautiously. 

*  Don't  make  a  noise  on  the  butts,'  said  Ouless  from 
the  shooting-place.     '  It  puts  the  men  off.' 

I  apologised,  and  Ortheris  went  on. 

*Our  coats  was  off,  an'  'e  sez,  "Are  you  ready?"  sez 
'e.  "Come  on  then.'*  I  come  on,  a  bit  uncertain  at 
first,  but  he  took  me  one  under  the  chin  that  warmed 
me  up.  I  wanted  to  mark  the  little  beggar  an'  I  hit 
high,  but  he  went  an'  jabbed  me  over  the  heart  like  a 
good  one.  He  wasn't  so  strong  as  me,  but  he  knew  more, 
an'  in  about  two  minutes  I  calls  "Time."  'E  steps 
back, — it  was  in-fightin'  then :  "  Come  on  when  you're 
ready,"  'e  sez;  and  when  I  had  my  wind  I  come  on  again, 
an'  I  got  *im  one  on  the  nose  that  painted  'is  little  aris- 

147 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

tocratic  white  shirt  for  'im.  That  fetched  'im,  an'  I 
knew  it  quicker  nor  hght.  He  come  all  round  me,  close- 
fightin',  goin'  steady  for  my  heart.  I  held  on  all  I  could 
an'  spht  'is  ear,  but  then  I  began  to  hiccup,  an'  the  game 
was  up.  I  come  in  to  feel  if  I  could  throw  'im,  an'  'e 
got  me  one  on  the  mouth  that  downed  me  an' — look 
'ere!' 

Ortheris  raised  the  left  corner  of  his  upper  lip.  An 
eye-tooth  was  wanting. 

*  'E  stood  over  me  an'  'e  sez,  "Have  you  'ad  enough?" 
'e  sez.  "Thank  you,  I  'ave,"  sez  I.  He  took  my  'and 
an'  pulled  me  up,  an'  I  was  pretty  shook.  "Now,"  'e 
sez,  "  I'll  apologise  for  'ittin'  you.  It  was  all  my  fault," 
'e  sez,  "  an'  it  wasn't  meant  for  you."  "  I  knowed  that, 
sir,"  I  sez,  "  an'  there's  no  need  for  no  apology."  "Then 
it's  an  accident,"  'e  sez;  "an'  you  must  let  me  pay  for 
thecoat;  else  it'll  be  stopped  onto' your  pay."  I  wouldn't 
ha'  took  the  money  before,  but  I  did  then.  'E  give  me 
ten  rupees, — enough  to  pay  for  the  coat  twice  over,  an ' 
we  went  down  to  the  river  to  wash  our  faces,  which  was 
well  marked.  His  was  special.  Then  he  sez  to  himself, 
sputterin'  the  water  out  of  'is  mouth,  "I  wonder  if  I 
done  right?"  'e  sez.  "Yes,  sir,"  sez  I;  "there's  no  fear 
about  that."  " It's  all  well  for  you,"  'e  sez,  "but  what 
about  the  comp'ny?"  "Beggin'  your  pardon,  sir,"  I 
sez,  "I  don't  think  the  comp'ny  will  give  no  trouble." 
Then  we  went  shootin',  an'  when  we  come  back  I  was 
feelin'  as  chirpy  as  a  cricket,  an'  I  took  an'  rolled  Samuel- 
son  up  an'  down  the  veranda,  an'  give  out  to  the  com- 
p'ny that  the  difficulty  between  me  an'  Lieutenant 
Ouless  was  satisfactory  put  a  stop  to.  I  told  Jock,  o' 
course,  an'  Terence.  Jock  didn't  say  nothing,  but 
Terence  'e  sez:  "You're  a  pair,  you  two.    An',  begad,  I 

148 


HIS  PRIVATE  HONOUR 

don't  know  which  was  the  better  man."  There  ain't 
nothin'  wrong  with  Ouless.  'E's  a  gentleman  all  over, 
an'  'e's  come  on  as  much  as  B  Comp'ny.  I  lay  'e'd  lose 
'is  commission,  tho',  if  it  come  out  that  'e'd  been  fightin' 
with  a  private.  Hoi  ho!  Fightin'  all  an  afternoon 
with  a  bloomin'  private  hke  me!  What  do  you  think?' 
he  added,  brushing  the  breech  of  his  rifle. 

'  I  think  what  the  umpires  said  at  the  sham  fight ;  both 
sides  deserve  great  credit.  But  I  wish  you'd  tell  me 
what  made  you  save  him  in  the  first  place.' 

'I  was  pretty  sure  that  'e  'adn't  meant  it  for  me, 
though  that  wouldn't  ha'  made  no  difference  if  'e'd  been 
copped  for  it.  An'  'e  was  that  young  too  that  it  wouldn't 
ha'  been  fair.  Besides,  if  I  had  ha'  done  that  I'd  ha' 
missed  the  fight,  and  I'd  ha'  felt  bad  all  my  time.  Don't 
you  see  it  that  way,  sir?' 

'  It  was  your  right  to  get  him  cashiered  if  you  chose,'  I 
insisted. 

'  My  right ! '  Ortheris  answered  v/ith  deep  scorn.  '  My 
right !  I  ain't  a  recruity  to  go  whinin'  about  my  rights 
to  this  an'  my  rights  to  that,  just  as  if  I  couldn't  look 
after  myself .  My  rights!  'Strev/th  A'mighty!  I'm  a 
man.' 

The  last  squad  were  finishing  their  shots  in  a  storm  of 
low-voiced  chaff.  Ouless  withdrew  to  a  little  distance 
in  order  to  leave  the  men  at  ease,  and  I  saw  his  face  in 
the  full  sunlight  for  a  moment,  before  he  hitched  up  his 
sword,  got  his  men  together,  and  marched  them  back  to 
barracks.     It  was  all  right.     The  boy  was  proven. 


149 


A  MATTER  OF  FACT 

(1894) 

And  if  ye  doubt  the  tale  I  tell, 
Steer  through  the  South  Pacific  swell; 
Go  where  the  branching  coral  hives 
Unending  strife  of  endless  lives, 
Where,  leagued  about  the  'wildered  boat, 
The  rainbow  jellies  fill  and  float; 
And,  lilting  where  the  laver  lingers, 
The  starfish  trips  on  all  her  fingers; 
Where,  'neath  his  myriad  spines  ashock, 
The  sea-egg  ripples  down  the  rock ; 
An  orange  wonder  dimly  guessed. 
From  darkness  where  the  cuttles  rest, 
Moored  o'er  the  darker  deeps  that  hide 
The  blind  white  Sea-snake  and  his  bride 
Who,  drowsing,  nose  the  long-lost  ships 
Let  down  through  darkness  to  their  lips. 

*The  Palms.' 

ONCE  a  priest,  always  a  priest;  once  a  mason, 
always  a  mason;  but  once  a  journalist,  always 
and  for  ever  a  journalist. 
There  were  three  of  us,  all  newspaper  men,  the  only 
passengers  on  a  little  tramp  steamer  that  ran  where  her 
owners  told  her  to  go.     She  had  once  been  in  the  Bilbao 

150 


A  MATTER  OF  FACT 

iron  ore  business,  had  been  lent  to  tlie  Spanish  Govern- 
ment for  service  at  Manila;  and  was  ending  her  days  in 
the  Cape  Town  coolie-trade,  with  occasional  trips  to 
Madagascar  and  even  as  far  as  England.  We  found  her 
going  to  Southampton  in  ballast,  and  shipped  in  her 
because  the  fares  were  nominal.  There  was  Keller,  of 
an  American  paper,  on  his  way  back  to  the  States  from 
palace  executions  in  Madagascar;  there  was  a  burly  half- 
Dutchman,  called  Zuyland,  who  owned  and  edited  a 
paper  up  country  near  Johannesburg;  and  there  was  my- 
self, who  had  solemnly  put  away  all  journalism,  vowing 
to  forget  that  I  had  ever  known  the  difference  between 
an  imprint  and  a  stereo  advertisement. 

Ten  minutes  after  Keller  spoke  to  me,  as  the  'Rath- 
mines'  cleared  Cape  Town,  I  had  forgotten  the  aloofness 
I  desired  to  feign,  and  was  in  heated  discussion  on  the 
immorality  of  expanding  telegrams  beyond  a  certain 
fixed  point.  Then  Zuyland  came  out  of  his  cabin,  and 
we  were  all  at  home  instantly,  because  we  were  men  of 
the  same  profession  needing  no  introduction.  We  an- 
nexed the  boat  formally,  broke  open  the  passengers' 
bath-room  door — on  the  Manila  lines  the  Dons  do  not 
wash — cleaned  out  the  orange-peel  and  cigar-ends  at  the 
bottom  of  the  bath,  hired  a  Lascar  to  shave  us  through- 
out the  voyage,  and  then  asked  each  other's  names. 

Three  ordinary  men  would  have  quarrelled  through 
sheer  boredom  before  they  reached  Southampton.  We, 
by  virtue  of  our  craft,  were  anything  but  ordinary  men. 
A  large  percentage  of  the  tales  of  the  world,  the  thirty- 
nine  that  cannot  be  told  to  ladies  and  the  one  that  can, 
are  common  property  coming  of  a  common  stock.  We 
told  them  all  as  a  matter  of  form,  with  all  their  local  and 
specific  variants  which  are  surprising.    Then  came,  in 

151 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

the  intervals  of  steady  card-play,  more  personal  histories 
of  adventure  and  things  seen  and  suffered :  panics  among 
white  folk,  when  the  blind  terror  ran  from  man  to  man 
on  the  Brooklyn  Bridge,  and  the  people  crushed  each 
other  to  death  they  knew  not  why;  fires,  and  faces  that 
opened  and  shut  their  mouths  horribly  at  red-hot  win- 
dow frames;  wrecks  in  frost  and  snow,  reported  from  the 
sleet-sheathed  rescue-tug  at  the  risk  of  frost-bite;  long 
rides  after  diamond  thieves;  skirmishes  on  the  veldt  and 
in  municipal  committees  with  the  Boers;  glimpses  of 
lazy  tangled  Cape  politics  and  the  mule-rule  in  the 
Transvaal;  card-tales,  horse-tales,  woman-tales,  by  the 
score  and  the  half  hundred;  till  the  first  mate,  who  had 
seen  more  than  us  all  put  together,  but  lacked  words  to 
clothe  his  tales  with,  sat  open-mouthed  far  into  the  dawn. 

When  the  tales  were  done  we  picked  up  cards  till  a 
curious  hand  or  a  chance  remark  made  one  or  other  of  us 
say,  'That  reminds  me  of  a  man  who — or  a  business 
which — '  and  the  anecdotes  would  continue  while  the 
'Rathmines'  kicked  her  way  northward  through  the 
warm  water. 

In  the  morning  of  one  specially  warm  night  we  three 
were  sitting  immediately  in  front  of  the  wheel-house, 
where  an  old  Swedish  boatswain  whom  we  called  '  Frit- 
hiof  the  Dane'  was  at  the  wheel,  pretending  that  he 
could  not  hear  our  stories.  Once  or  twice  Frithiof  spun 
the  spokes  curiously,  and  Keller  lifted  his  head  from  a 
long  chair  to  ask,  '  What  is  it?  Can't  you  get  any  steer- 
age-way on  her? ' 

'There  is  a  feel  in  the  water,'  said  Frithiof,  'that  I 
cannot  understand.  I  think  that  we  run  downhills  or 
somethings.     She  steers  bad  this  morning.' 

Nobody  seems  to  know  the  laws  that  govern  the  pulse 

152 


A  MATTER  OF  FACT 

of  the  big  waters.  Sometimes  even  a  landsman  can  tell 
that  the  solid  ocean  is  atilt,  and  that  the  ship  is  working 
herself  up  a  long  unseen  slope;  and  sometimes  the  cap- 
tain says,  when  neither  full  steam  nor  fair  wind  justifies 
the  length  of  a  day's  run,  that  the  ship  is  sagging  down- 
hill; but  how  these  ups  and  downs  come  about  has  not 
yet  been  settled  authoritatively. 

'No,  it  is  a  following  sea,'  said  Frithiof;  'and  with  a 
following  sea  you  shall  not  get  good  steerage-way.' 

The  sea  was  as  smooth  as  a  duck-pond,  except  for  a 
regular  oily  swell.  As  I  looked  over  the  side  to  see  where 
it  might  be  following  us  from,  the  sun  rose  in  a  perfectly 
clear  sky  and  struck  the  water  with  its  light  so  sharply 
that  it  seemed  as  though  the  sea  should  clang  like  a  bur- 
nished gong.  The  wake  of  the  screw  and  the  little  white 
streak  cut  by  the  log-line  hanging  over  the  stern  were 
the  only  marks  on  the  water  as  far  as  eye  could  reach. 

Keller  rolled  out  of  his  chair  and  went  aft  to  get  a 
pineapple  from  the  ripening  stock  that  was  hung  inside 
the  after  awning. 

'  Frithiof,  the  log-line  has  got  tired  of  swimming.  It's 
coming  home,'  he  drawled. 

'What?'  said  Frithiof,  his  voice  jumping  several  oc- 
taves. 

*  Coming  home, '  Keller  repeated,  leaning  over  the  stern . 
I  ran  to  his  side  and  saw  the  log-line,  which  till  then  had 
been  drawn  tense  overthe  stern  railing,  slacken,  loop,  and 
come  up  off  the  port  quarter.  Frithiof  called  up  the 
speaking-tube  to  the  bridge,  and  the  bridge  answered, 
'Yes,  nine  knots.'  Then  Frithiof  spoke  again,  and  the 
answer  was,  'What  do  you  want  of  the  skipper?'  and 
Frithiof  bellowed, '  Call  him  up.' 

By  this  time  Zuyland,  Keller,  and  myself  had  caught 

153 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

something  of  Frithiof's  excitement,  for  any  emotion  on 
shipboard  is  most  contagious.  The  captain  ran  out  of 
his  cabin,  spoke  to  Frithiof ,  looked  at  the  log-line,  j  umped 
on  the  bridge,  and  in  a  minute  we  felt  the  steamer  swing 
round  as  Frithiof  turned  her. 

*  'Going  back  to  Cape  Town?'  said  Keller. 

Frithiof  did  not  answer,  but  tore  away  at  the  wheel. 
Then  he  beckoned  us  three  to  help,  and  we  held  the  wheel 
down  till  the  'Rathmines'  answered  it,  and  we  found 
ourselves  looking  into  the  white  of  our  own  wake,  with 
the  still  oily  sea  tearing  past  our  bows,  though  we  were 
not  going  more  than  half  steam  ahead. 

The  captain  stretched  out  his  arm  from  the  bridge 
and  shouted.  A  minute  later  I  would  have  given  a  great 
deal  to  have  shouted  too,  for  one-half  of  the  sea  seemed 
to  shoulder  itself  above  the  other  half,  and  came  on  in 
the  shape  of  a  hill.  There  was  neither  crest,  comb,  nor 
curl-over  to  it;  nothing  but  black  water  with  little  waves 
chasing  each  other  about  the  flanks.  I  saw  it  stream 
past  and  on  a  level  with  the  '  Rathmines' '  bow-plates  be- 
fore the  steamer  hove  up  her  bulk  to  rise,  and  I  argued 
that  this  would  be  the  last  of  all  earthly  voyages  for  me. 
Then  we  lifted  for  ever  and  ever  and  ever,  till  I  heard 
Keller  saying  in  my  ear,  'The  bowels  of  the  deep,  good 
Lord!'  and  the  'Rathmines'  stood  poised,  her  screw  rac- 
ing and  drumming  on  the  slope  of  a  hollow  that  stretched 
downwards  for  a  good  half-mile. 

We  went  down  that  hollow,  nose  under  for  the  most 
part,  and  the  air  smelt  wet  and  muddy,  like  that  of  an 
emptied  aquarium.  There  was  a  second  hill  to  climb: 
I  saw  that  much;  but  the  water  came  aboard  and  carried 
me  aft  till  it  jammed  me  against  the  wheel-house  door, 
and  before  I  could  catch  breath  or  clear  my  eyes  again 

154 


A  MATTER  OF  FACT 

we  were  rolling  to  and  fro  in  torn  water,  with  the  scuppers 
pouring  like  eaves  in  a  thunder-storm. 

'There  were  three  waves,'  said  Keller;  'and  the  stoke- 
hold's flooded.' 

The  firemen  were  on  deck  waiting,  apparently,  to  be 
drowned.  The  engineer  came  and  dragged  them  below, 
and  the  crew,  gasping,  began  to  work  the  clumsy  Board 
of  Trade  pump.  That  showed  nothing  serious,  and 
when  I  understood  that  the  'Rathmines'  was  really  on 
the  water,  and  not  beneath  it,  I  asked  what  had  hap- 
pened. 

*The  captain  says  it  was  a  blow-up  under  the  sea — a 
volcano,'  said  Keller. 

*It  hasn't  warmed  anything,'  I  said.  I  was  feeling 
bitterly  cold,  and  cold  was  almost  unknown  in  those 
waters.  I  went  below  to  change  my  clothes,  and  when  I 
came  up  everything  was  wiped  out  in  clinging  white  fog. 

'Are  there  going  to  be  any  more  surprises?'  said  Keller 
to  the  captain. 

'  I  don't  know.  Be  thankful  you're  alive,  gentlemen. 
That's  a  tidal  wave  thrown  up  by  a  volcano.  Probably 
the  bottom  of  the  sea  has  been  lifted  a  few  feet  some- 
where or  other.  I  can't  quite  understand  this  cold  spell. 
Our  sea-thermometer  says  the  surface  water  is  44  degrees, 
and  it  should  be  68  degrees  at  least.' 

*  It's  abominable,'  said  Keller,  shivering.  '  But  hadn't 
you  better  attend  to  the  fog-horn?  It  seems  to  me  that 
I  heard  something.' 

*  Heard!  Good  heavens!'  said  the  captain  from  the 
bridge,  'I  should  think  you  did.'  He  pulled  the  string 
of  our  fog-horn,  which  was  a  weak  one.  It  sputtered 
and  choked,  because  the  stokehold  was  full  of  water  and 
the  fires  were  half-drowned,  and  at  last  gave  out  a  moan. 

155 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

It  was  answered  from  the  fog  by  one  of  the  most  appall- 
ing steam-sirens  I  have  ever  heard.  Keller  turned  as 
white  as  I  did,  for  the  fog,  the  cold  fog,  was  upon  us,  and 
any  man  may  be  forgiven  for  fearing  a  death  he  cannot 
see. 

'Give  her  steam  there!'  said  the  captain  to  the  en- 
gine-room. 'Steam  for  the  whistle,  if  we  have  to  go 
dead  slow.' 

We  bellowed  again,  and  the  damp  dripped  off  the 
awnings  on  to  the  deck  as  we  listened  for  the  reply.  It 
seemed  to  be  astern  this  time,  but  much  nearer  than  be- 
fore. 

'The  "Pembroke  Castle"  on  us!'  said  Keller;  and 
then,  viciously,  'Well,  thank  God,  we  shall  sink  her  too.' 

'It's  a  side-wheel  steamer,'  I  whispered.  'Can't  you 
hear  the  paddles?' 

This  time  we  whistled  and  roared  till  the  steam  gave 
out,  and  the  answer  nearly  deafened  us.  There  was  a 
sound  of  frantic  threshing  in  the  water,  apparently  about 
fifty  yards  away,  and  something  shot  past  in  the  white- 
ness that  looked  as  though  it  were  gray  and  red. 

'The  "Pembroke  Castle"  bottom  up,'  said  Keller, 
who,  being  a  journalist,  always  sought  for  explanations. 
'That's  the  colours  of  a  Castle  liner.  We're  in  for  a  big 
thing.' 

'The  sea  is  bewitched,'  said  Frithiof  from  the  wheel- 
house.     '  There  are  two  steamers ! ' 

Another  siren  sounded  on  our  bow,  and  the  little 
steamer  rolled  in  the  wash  of  something  that  had  passed 
unseen. 

'We're  evidently  in  the  middle  of  a  fleet,'  said  Keller 
quietly.  'If  one  doesn't  run  us  down,  the  other  will. 
Phew !    What  in  creation  is  that? ' 

156 


A  MATTER  OF  FACT 

I  sniffed,  for  there  was  a  poisonous  rank  smell  in  the 
cold  air — a  smell  that  I  had  smelt  before. 

•  If  I  was  on  land  I  should  say  that  it  was  an  alligator. 
It  smells  like  musk,'  I  answered. 

'Not  ten  thousand  alligators  could  make  that  smell,' 
said  Zuyland;  'I  have  smelt  them.' 

'Bewitched!  Bewitched!'  said  Frithiof.  'The  sea 
she  is  turned  upside  down,  and  we  are  walking  along  the 
bottom.' 

Again  the  'Rathmines'  rolled  in  the  wash  of  some  un- 
seen ship,  and  a  silver-gray  wave  broke  over  the  bow, 
leaving  on  the  deck  a  sheet  of  sediment — the  gray  broth 
that  has  its  place  in  the  fathomless  deeps  of  the  sea.  A 
sprinkling  of  the  wave  fell  on  my  face,  and  it  was  so  cold 
that  it  stung  as  boihng  water  stings.  The  dead  and 
most  untouched  deep  water  of  the  sea  had  been  heaved 
to  the  top  by  the  submarine  volcano — the  chill  Stillwater 
that  kills  all  life  and  smells  of  desolation  and  emptiness. 
We  did  not  need  either  the  blinding  fog  or  that  indescrib- 
able smell  of  musk  to  make  us  unhappy — we  were  shiver- 
ing with  cold  and  wretchedness  where  we  stood. 

'The  hot  air  on  the  cold  water  makes  this  fog,'  said 
the  captain;  'it  ought  to  clear  in  a  little  time.' 

'Whistle,  oh,  whistle,  and  let's  get  out  of  it!'  said 
Keller. 

The  captain  whistled  again,  and  far  and  far  astern  the 
invisible  twin  steam-sirens  answered  us.  Their  blast- 
ing shriek  grew  louder,  till  at  last  it  seemed  to  tear  out 
of  the  fog  just  above  our  quarter,  and  I  cowered  while 
the  '  Rathmines'  plunged  bows  under  on  a  double  swell 
that  crossed. 

*No  more,'  said  Frithiof,  'it  is  not  good  any  more. 
Let  us  get  away,  in  the  name  of  God.' 

157 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

'Now  if  a  torpedo-boat  with  a  "City  of  Paris"  siren 
went  mad  and  broke  her  moorings  and  hired  a  friend  to 
help  her,  it's  just  conceivable  that  we  might  be  carried 
as  we  are  now.     Otherwise  this  thing  is — ' 

The  last  words  died  on  Keller's  lips,  his  eyes  began  to 
start  from  his  head,  and  his  jaw  fell.  Some  six  or  seven 
feet  above  the  port  bulwarks,  framed  in  fog,  and  as 
utterly  unsupported  as  the  full  moon,  hung  a  Face.  It 
was  not  human,  and  it  certainly  was  not  animal,  for  it 
did  not  belong  to  this  earth  as  known  to  man.  The 
mouth  was  open,  revealing  a  ridiculously  tiny  tongue — 
as  absurd  as  the  tongue  of  an  elephant;  there  were  tense 
wrinkles  of  white  skin  at  the  angles  of  the  drawn  lips, 
white  feelers  like  those  of  a  barbel  sprang  from  the  lower 
jaw,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  teeth  within  the  mouth. 
But  the  horror  of  the  face  lay  in  the  eyes,  for  those  were 
sightless — white,  in  sockets  as  white  as  scraped  bone, 
and  blind.  Yet  for  all  this  the  face,  wrinkled  as  the 
mask  of  a  lion  is  drawn  in  Assyrian  sculpture,  was  alive 
with  rage  and  terror.  One  long  white  feeler  touched 
our  bulwarks.  Then  the  face  disappeared  with  the 
swiftness  of  a  blindworm  popping  into  its  burrow,  and 
the  next  thing  that  I  remember  is  my  own  voice  in  my 
own  ears,  saying  gravely  to  the  mainmast,  'But  the  air- 
bladder  ought  to  have  been  forced  out  of  its  mouth,  you 
know.' 

Keller  came  up  to  me,  ashy  white.  He  put  his  hand 
into  his  pocket,  took  a  cigar,  bit  it,  dropped  it,thrust  his 
shaking  thumb  into  his  mouth  and  mumbled,  'The  giant 
gooseberry  and  the  raining  frogs!  Gimme  a  light — 
gimme  a  light!  Say,  gimme  a  light.'  A  little  bead  of 
blood  dropped  from  his  thumb-joint. 

I  respected  the  motive,  though  the  manifestation  was 

158 


Mi 


A  MATTER  OF  FACT 

absurd.  'Stop,  you'll  bite  your  thumb  off,'  I  said,  and 
Keller  laughed  brokenly  as  he  picked  up  his  cigar.  Only 
Zuyland,  leaning  over  the  port  bulwarks,  seemed  self- 
possessed.  He  declared  later  that  he  was  very  sick. 
'We've  seen  it,'  he  said,  turning  round.  'That  is  it.' 
'What?'  said  Keller,  chewing  the  unlighted  cigar. 
As  he  spoke  the  fog  was  blown  into  shreds,  and  we  saw 
the  sea,  gray  with  mud,  rolling  on  every  side  of  us  and 
empty  of  all  life.  Then  in  one  spot  it  bubbled  and  be- 
came like  the  pot  of  ointment  that  the  Bible  speaks  of. 
From  that  wide-ringed  trouble  a  Thing  came  up — a  gray 
and  red  Thing  with  a  neck — a  Thing  that  bellowed  and 
writhed  in  pain.  Frithiof  drew  in  his  breath  and  held 
it  till  the  red  letters  of  the  ship's  name,  woven  across  his 
jersey,  straggled  and  opened  out  as  though  they  had 
been  type  badly  set.  Then  he  said  with  a  little  cluck  in 
his  throat,  'Ah  me!  It  is  blind.  Hur  ilia!  That  thing 
is  blind,'  and  a  murmur  of  pity  went  through  us  all,  for 
we  could  see  that  the  thing  on  the  water  was  blind  and 
in  pain.  Something  had  gashed  and  cut  the  great  sides 
cruelly  and  the  blood  was  spurting  out.  The  gray  ooze 
of  the  undermost  sea  lay  in  the  monstrous  wrinkles  of 
the  back,  and  poured  away  in  sluices.  The  blind  white 
head  flung  back  and  battered  the  wounds,  and  the  body 
in  its  torment  rose  clear  of  the  red  and  gray  waves  till  we 
saw  a  pair  of  quivering  shoulders  streaked  with  weed 
and  rough  with  shells,  but  as  white  in  the  clear  spaces 
as  the  hairless,  maneless,  bhnd,  toothless  head.  After- 
wards, came  a  dot  on  the  horizon  and  the  sound  of  a 
shrill  scream,  and  it  was  as  though  a  shuttle  shot  all 
across  the  sea  in  one  breath,  and  a  second  head  and  neck 
tore  through  the  levels,  driving  a  whispering  wall  of 
water  to  right  and  left.     The  two  Things  met— the  one 

159 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

untouched  and  the  other  in  its  death-throe — male  and 
female,  we  said,  the  female  coming  to  the  male.  She 
circled  round  him  bellowing,  and  laid  her  neck  across 
the  curve  of  his  great  turtle-back,  and  he  disappeared 
under  water  for  an  instant,  but  flung  up  again,  grunting 
in  agony  while  the  blood  ran.  Once  the  entire  head  and 
neck  shot  clear  of  the  water  and  stiffened,  and  I  heard 
Keller  saying,  as  though  he  was  watching  a  street  acci- 
dent, 'Give  him  air.  For  God's  sake,  give  him  air.' 
Then  the  death-struggle  began,  with  crampings  and 
twistings  and  jerkings  of  the  white  bulk  to  and  fro,  till 
our  little  steamer  rolled  again,  and  each  gray  wave  coated 
her  plates  with  the  gray  slime.  The  sun  was  clear,  there 
was  no  wind,  and  we  watched,  the  whole  crew,  stokers 
and  all,  in  wonder  and  pity,  but  chiefly  pity.  The 
Thing  was  so  helpless,  and,  save  for  his  mate,  so  alone. 
No  human  eye  should  have  beheld  him;  it  was  monstrous 
and  indecent  to  exhibit  him  there  in  trade  waters  be- 
tween atlas  degrees  of  latitude.  He  had  been  spewed 
up,  mangled  and  dying,  from  his  rest  on  the  sea-floor, 
where  he  might  have  lived  till  the  Judgment  Day,  and 
we  saw  the  tides  of  his  life  go  from  him  as  an  angry  tide 
goes  out  across  rocks  in  the  teeth  of  a  landward  gale. 
His  mate  lay  rocking  on  the  water  a  little  distance  off, 
bellowing  continually,  and  the  smell  of  musk  came  down 
upon  the  ship  making  us  cough. 

At  last  the  battle  for  life  ended  in  a  batter  of  coloured 
seas.  We  saw  the  writhing  neck  fall  like  a  flail,  the  car- 
case turn  sideways,  showing  the  glint  of  a  white  belly 
and  the  inset  of  a  gigantic  hind  leg  or  flipper.  Then  all 
sank,  and  sea  boiled  over  it,  while  the  mate  swam  round 
and  round,  darting  her  head  in  every  direction.  Though 
we  might  have  feared  that  she  would  attack  the  steamer, 

160 


A  MATTER  OF  FACT 

no  power  on  earth  could  have  drawn  any  one  of  us  from 
our  places  that  hour.  We  watched,  holding  our  breaths. 
The  mate  paused  in  her  search;  we  could  hear  the  wash 
beating  along  her  sides;  reared  her  neck  as  high  as  she 
could  reach,  blind  and  lonely  in  all  that  loneliness  of  the 
sea,  and  sent  one  desperate  bellow  booming  across  the 
swells  as  an  oyster-shell  skips  across  a  pond.  Then  she 
made  off  to  the  westward,  the  sun  shining  on  the  white 
head  and  the  wake  behind  it,  till  nothing  was  left  to  see 
but  a  little  pin-point  of  silver  on  the  horizon.  We  stood 
on  our  course  again;  and  the  'Rathmines,'  coated  with 
the  sea-sediment  from  bow  to  stern,  looked  like  a  ship 
made  gray  with  terror. 

'We  must  pool  our  notes,'  was  the  first  coherent  re- 
mark from  Keller.  'We're  three  trained  journaHsts — 
we  hold  absolutely  the  biggest  scoop  on  record.  Start 
fair.' 

I  objected  to  this.  Nothing  is  gained  by  collabora- 
tion in  j  ournalism  when  all  deal  with  the  same  facts,  so  we 
went  to  work  each  according  to  his  own  lights.  Keller 
triple-headed  his  account,  talked  about  our  'gallant 
captain,'  and  wound  up  with  an  allusion  to  American 
enterprise  in  that  it  was  a  citizen  of  Dayton,  Ohio,  that 
had  seen  the  sea-serpent.  This  sort  of  thing  would  have 
discredited  the  Creation,  much  more  a  mere  sea  tale, 
but  as  a  specimen  of  the  picture-writing  of  a  half-civilised 
people  it  was  very  interesting.  Zuyland  took  a  heavy 
column  and  a  half,  giving  approximate  lengths  and 
breadths,  and  the  whole  list  of  the  crew  whom  he  had 
sworn  on  oath  to  testify  to  his  facts.  There  was  nothing 
fantastic  or  flamboyant  in  Zuyland.  I  wrote  three- 
quarters  of  a  leaded  bourgeois  column,  roughly  speaking, 

161 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

and  refrained  from  putting  any  journalese  into  it  for 
reasons  that  had  begun  to  appear  to  me. 

Keller  was  insolent  with  joy.  He  was  going  to  cable 
from  Southampton  to  the  New  York  'World,'  mail  his 
account  to  America  on  the  same  day,  paralyse  London 
with  his  three  columns  of  loosely  knitted  headlines,  and 
generally  efface  the  earth.  'You'll  see  how  I  work  a  big 
scoop  when  I  get  it,'  he  said. 

'  Is  this  your  first  visit  to  England?'  I  asked. 

'Yes,'  said  he.  'You  don't  seem  to  appreciate  the 
beauty  of  our  scoop.  It's  pyramidal— the  death  of  the 
sea-serpent!  Good  heavens  alive,  man,  it's  the  biggest 
thing  ever  vouchsafed  to  a  paper!' 

'  'Curious  to  think  that  it  will  never  appear  in  any 
paper,  isn't  it?'  I  said. 

Zuyland  was  near  me,  and  he  nodded  quickly. 

'  What  do  you  mean? '  said  Keller.  '  If  you're  enough 
of  a  Britisher  to  throw  this  thing  away,  I  shan't.  I 
thought  you  were  a  newspaper-man.' 

'  I  am.  That's  why  I  know.  Don't  be  an  ass,  Keller. 
Remember,  I'm  seven  hundred  years  your  senior,  and 
what  your  grandchildren  may  learn  five  hundred  years 
hence,  I  learned  from  my  grandfathers  about  five  hun- 
dred years  ago.     You  won't  do  it,  because  you  can't.' 

This  conversation  was  held  in  open  sea,  where  every- 
thing seems  possible,  some  hundred  miles  from  Southamp- 
ton. We  passed  the  Needles  Light  at  dawn,  and  the 
lifting  day  showed  the  stucco  villas  on  the  green  and  the 
awful  orderliness  of  England — line  upon  line,  wall  upon 
wall,  solid  stone  dock  and  monolithic  pier.  We  waited 
an  hour  in  the  Customs  shed,  and  there  was  ample  time 
for  the  effect  to  soak  in. 

*Now,  Keller,  you  face  the  music.     The  "Havel" 

162 


A  MATTER  OF  FACT 

goes  out  to-day.     Mail  by  her,  and  I'll  take  you  to  the 
telegraph-office,'  I  said. 

I  heard  Keller  gasp  as  the  influence  of  the  land  closed 
about  him,  cowing  him  as  they  say  Newmarket  Heath 
cows  a  young  horse  unused  to  open  courses. 

'I  want  to  retouch  my  stuff.  Suppose  we  wait  till 
we  get  to  London?'  he  said. 

Zuyland,  by  the  way,  had  torn  up  his  account  and 
thrown  it  overboard  that  morning  early.  His  reasons 
were  my  reasons. 

In  the  train  Keller  began  to  revise  his  copy,  and  every 
time  that  he  looked  at  the  trim  little  fields,  the  red  villas, 
and  the  embankments  of  the  line,  the  blue  pencil  plunged 
remorselessly  through  the  slips.  He  appeared  to  have 
dredged  the  dictionary  for  adjectives.  I  could  think  of 
none  that  he  had  not  used.  Yet  he  was  a  perfectly 
sound  poker-player  and  never  showed  more  cards  than 
were  sufficient  to  take  the  pool. 

'Aren't  you  going  to  leave  him  a  single  bellow?'  I 
asked  sympathetically.  'Remember,  everything  goes 
in  the  States,  from  a  trouser-button  to  a  double-eagle.' 

'That's  just  the  curse  of  it,'  said  Keller  below  his 
breath.  'We've  played  'em  for  suckers  so  often  that 
when  it  comes  to  the  golden  truth — I'd  like  to  try  this 
on  a  London  paper.     You  have  first  call  there,  though.' 

'Not  in  the  least.  I'm  not  touching  the  thing  in  our 
papers.  I  shall  be  happy  to  leave  'em  all  to  you;  but 
surely  you'll  cable  it  home?' 

'No.  Not  if  I  can  make  the  scoop  here  and  see  the 
Britishers  sit  up.' 

'You  won't  do  it  with  three  columns  of  slushy  head- 
lines, believe  me.  They  don't  sit  up  as  quickly  as  some 
people.' 

163 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

*  I'm  beginning  to  think  that  too.  Does  nothing  make 
any  difference  in  this  country?'  he  said,  looking  out  of 
the  window.     '  How  old  is  that  farmhouse? ' 

'New.  It  can't  be  more  than  two  hundred  years  at 
the  most.' 

'Um.     Fields,  too?' 

'That  hedge  there  must  have  been  clipped  for  about 
eighty  years.' 

*  Labour  cheap — eh? ' 

'Pretty  much.  Well,  I  suppose  you'd  like  to  try  the 
"Times,"  wouldn't  you?' 

'No,'  said  Keller,  looking  at  Winchester  Cathedral. 
'  'Might  as  well  try  to  electrify  a  haystack.  And  to 
think  that  the  "World"  would  take  three  columns  and 
ask  for  more — with  illustrations  too !     It's  sickening.' 

'But  the  "Times"  might,'  I  began. 

Keller  flung  his  paper  across  the  carriage,  and  it  opened 
in  its  austere  majesty  of  solid  type — opened  with  the 
crackle  of  an  encyclopaedia. 

'Might!  You  might  work  your  way  through  the 
bow-plates  of  a  cruiser.     Look  at  that  first  page ! ' 

'It  strikes  you  that  way,  does  it?'  I  said.  'Then  I'd 
recommend  you  to  try  a  light  and  frivolous  journal.' 

'With  a  thing  like  this  of  mine — of  ours?  It's  sacred 
history!' 

I  showed  him  a  paper  which  I  conceived  would  be 
after  his  own  heart,  in  that  it  was  modelled  on  American 
lines. 

'That's  homey,'  he  said,  'but  it's  not  the  real  thing. 
Now,  I  should  like  one  of  these  fat  old  "Times"  columns. 
Probably  there'd  be  a  bishop  in  the  office,  though.' 

When  we  reached  London  Keller  disappeared  in  the 
direction  of  the  Strand.     What  his  experiences  may 

164 


A  MATTER  OF  FACT 

have  been  I  cannot  tell,  but  it  seems  that  he  invaded  the 
office  of  an  evening  paper  at  11.45  a.  m.  (I  told  him  Eng- 
lish editors  were  most  idle  at  that  hour),  and  mentioned 
my  name  as  that  of  a  witness  to  the  truth  of  his  story. 

'I  was  nearly  fired  out,'  he  said  furiously  at  lunch, 
'As  soon  as  I  mentioned  you,  the  old  man  said  that  I  was 
to  tell  you  that  they  didn't  want  any  more  of  your  prac- 
tical jokes,  and  that  you  knew  the  hours  to  call  if  you 
had  anything  to  sell,  and  that  they'd  see  you  condemned 
before  they  helped  to  puff  one  of  your  infernal  yarns  in 
advance.  Say,  what  record  do  you  hold  for  truth  in 
this  country,  anyway? ' 

'A  beauty.  You  ran  up  against  it,  that's  all.  Why 
don't  you  leave  the  English  papers  alone  and  cable  to 
New  York?     Everything  goes  over  there.' 

'  Can't  you  see  that's  just  why? '  he  repeated. 

'I  saw  it  a  long  time  ago.  You  don't  intend  to  cable, 
then?' 

'Yes,  I  do,'  he  answered,  in  the  over-emphatic  voice  of 
one  who  does  not  know  his  own  mind. 

That  afternoon  I  walked  him  abroad  and  about,  over 
the  streets  that  run  between  the  pavements  like  channels 
of  grooved  and  tongued  lava,  over  the  bridges  that  are 
made  of  enduring  stone,  through  subways  floored  and 
sided  with  yard-thick  concrete,  between  houses  that  are 
never  rebuilt,  and  by  river-steps  hewn,  to  the  eye,  from 
the  living  rock.  A  black  fog  chased  us  into  Westminster 
Abbey,  and,  standing  there  in  the  darkness,  I  could  hear 
the  wings  of  the  dead  centuries  circling  round  the  head  of 
Litchfield  A.  Keller,  journalist,  of  Dayton,  Ohio,  U.  S.  A., 
whose  mission  it  was  to  make  the  Britishers  sit  up. 

He  stumbled  gasping  into  the  thick  gloom,  and  the 
roar  of  the  traffic  came  to  his  bewildered  ears. 

165 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

'Let's  go  to  the  telegraph-office  and  cable,'  I  said. 
'  Can't  you  hear  the  New  York  "World  "  crying  for  news 
of  the  great  sea-serpent,  blind,  white,  and  smelling  of 
musk,  stricken  to  death  by  a  submarine  volcano,  and 
assisted  by  his  loving  wife  to  die  in  mid-ocean,  as  visual- 
ised by  an  American  citizen,  the  breezy,  newsy,  brainy 
newspaper  man  of  Dayton,  Ohio?  'Rah  for  the  Buck- 
eye State.  Step  lively!  Both  gates!  Szz!  Boom! 
Aah!'  Keller  was  a  Princeton  man,  and  he  seemed  to 
need  encouragement. 

'You've  got  me  on  your  own  ground,'  said  he,  tugging 
at  his  overcoat  pocket.  He  pulled  out  his  copy,  with 
the  cable  forms — for  he  had  written  out  his  telegram — 
and  put  them  all  into  my  hand,  groaning,  '  I  pass.  If  I 
hadn't  come  to  your  cursed  country! — If  I'd  sent  it  off 
at  Southampton! — If  I  ever  get  you  west  of  the  Alle- 
ghanies!     If — ' 

'Never  mind,  Keller.  It  isn't  your  fault.  It's  the 
fault  of  your  country.  If  you  had  been  seven  hundred 
years  older  you'd  have  done  what  I  am  going  to  do.' 

'  What  are  you  going  to  do? ' 

'Tell  it  as  a  lie.' 

'Fiction?'  This  with  the  full-blooded  disgust  of  a 
journalist  for  the  illegitimate  branch  of  the  profession. 

'You  can  call  it  that  if  you  like.     I  shall  call  it  a  lie.' 

And  a  lie  it  has  become ;  for  Truth  is  a  naked  lady,  and 
if  by  accident  she  is  drawn  up  from  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 
it  behoves  a  gentleman  either  to  give  her  a  print  petti- 
coat or  to  turn  his  face  to  the  wall  and  vow  that  he  did 
not  see. 


166 


THE  LOST  LEGION 

(1891) 

WHEN  the  Indian  Mutiny  broke  out,  and  a  little 
time  before  the  siege  of  Delhi,  a  regiment  of 
Native  Irregular  Horse  was  stationed  at  Pesha- 
wur  on  the  frontier  of  India.  That  regiment  caught 
what  John  Lawrence  called  at  the  time  'the  prevalent 
mania,'  and  would  have  thrown  in  its  lot  with  the  mu- 
tineers had  it  been  allowed  to  do  so.  The  chance  never 
came,  for,  as  the  regiment  swept  off  down  south,  it  was 
headed  up  by  a  remnant  of  an  English  corps  into  the 
hills  of  Afghanistan,  and  there  the  newly-conquered 
tribesmen  turned  against  it  as  wolves  turn  against  buck. 
It  was  hunted  for  the  sake  of  its  arms  and  accoutrements 
from  hill  to  hill,  from  ravine  to  ravine,  up  and  down  the 
dried  beds  of  rivers  and  round  the  shoulders  of  bluffs, 
till  it  disappeared  as  water  sinks  in  the  sand — this  officer- 
less,  rebel  regiment.  The  only  trace  left  of  its  existence 
to-day  is  a  nominal  roll  drawn  up  in  neat  round  hand 
and  countersigned  by  an  officer  who  called  himself  *  Ad- 
jutant, late — Irregular  Cavalry.'  The  paper  is  yellow 
with  years  and  dirt,  but  on  the  back  of  it  you  can  still 
read  a  pencil  note  by  John  Lawrence,  to  this  effect: 
'  See  that  the  two  native  officers  who  remained  loyal  are 
not  deprived  of  their  estates. — J.  L.'  Of  six  hundred 
and  fifty  sabres  only  two  stood  strain,  and  John  Law- 

167 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

rence  in  the  midst  of  all  the  agony  of  the  first  months  of 
the  Mutiny  found  time  to  think  about  their  merits. 

That  was  more  than  thirty  years  ago,  and  the  tribes- 
men across  the  Afghan  border  who  helped  to  annihilate 
the  regiment  are  now  old  men.  Sometimes  a  graybeard 
speaks  of  his  share  in  the  massacre.  'They  came,'  he 
will  say,  'across  the  border,  very  proud,  calling  upon  us 
to  rise  and  kill  the  English,  and  go  down  to  the  sack  of 
Delhi.  But  we  who  had  just  been  conquered  by  the 
same  English  knew  that  they  were  over  bold,  and  that 
the  Government  could  account  easily  for  those  down- 
country  dogs.  This  Hindustani  regiment,  therefore,  we 
treated  with  fair  words,  and  kept  standing  in  one  place 
till  the  redcoats  came  after  them  very  hot  and  angry. 
Then  this  regiment  ran  forward  a  little  more  into  our 
hills  to  avoid  the  wrath  of  the  English,  and  we  lay  upon 
their  flanks  watching  from  the  sides  of  the  hills  till  we 
were  well  assured  that  their  path  was  lost  behind  them. 
Then  we  came  down,  for  we  desired  their  clothes,  and 
their  bridles,  and  their  rifles,  and  their  boots — more  es- 
pecially their  boots.  That  was  a  great  killing — done 
slowly.'  Here  the  old  man  will  rub  his  nose,  and  shake 
his  long  snaky  locks,  and  lick  his  bearded  lips,  and  grin 
till  the  yellow  tooth-stumps  show.  'Yes,  we  killed 
them  because  we  needed  their  gear,  and  we  knew  that 
their  lives  had  been  forfeited  to  God  on  account  of  their 
sin — the  sin  of  treachery  to  the  salt  which  they  had 
eaten.  They  rode  up  and  down  the  valleys,  stumbling 
and  rocking  in  their  saddles,  and  howling  for  mercy. 
We  drove  them  slowly  like  cattle  till  they  were  all  as- 
sembled in  one  place,  the  flat  wide  valley  of  Sheor  Kot. 
Many  had  died  from  want  of  water,  but  there  still  were 
many  left,  and  they  could  not  make  any  stand.     We 

168 


THE  LOST  LEGION 

went  among  them,  pulling  them  down  with  our  hands 
two  at  a  time,  and  our  boys  who  were  new  to  the  sword 
killed  them.  My  share  of  the  plunder  was  such  and 
such — so  many  guns,  and  so  many  saddles.  The  guns 
were  good  in  those  days.  Now  we  steal  the  Government 
rifles,  and  despise  smooth-bores.  Yes,  beyond  doubt 
we  wiped  that  regiment  from  off  the  face  of  the  earth, 
and  even  the  memory  of  the  deed  is  now  dying.  But 
men  say — ' 

At  this  point  the  tale  would  stop  abruptly,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  fmd  out  what  men  said  across  the  border. 
The  Afghans  were  always  a  secretive  race,  and  vastly 
preferred  doing  something  wicked  to  saying  anything  at 
all.  They  would  be  quiet  and  well-behaved  for  months, 
till  one  night,  without  word  or  warning,  they  would  rush 
a  police-post,  cut  the  throats  of  a  constable  or  two,  dash 
through  a  village,  carry  away  three  or  four  women,  and 
withdraw,  in  the  red  glare  of  burning  thatch,  driving  the 
cattle  and  goats  before  them  to  their  own  desolate  hills. 
The  Indian  Government  would  become  almost  tearful 
on  these  occasions.  First  it  would  say,  '  Please  be  good 
and  we'll  forgive  you.'  The  tribe  concerned  in  the  latest 
depredation  would  collectively  put  its  thumb  to  its  nose 
and  answer  rudely.  Then  the  Government  would  say : 
'Hadn't  you  better  pay  up  a  little  money  for  those  few 
corpses  you  left  behind  you  the  other  night? '  Here  the 
tribe  would  temporise,  and  lie  and  bully,  and  some  of  the 
younger  men,  merely  to  show  contempt  of  authority, 
would  raid  another  police-post  and  fire  into  some  fron- 
tier mud  fort,  and,  if  lucky,  kill  a  real  English  officer. 
Then  the  Government  would  say : '  Observe ;  if  you  really 
persist  in  this  line  of  conduct  you  will  be  hurt.'  If  the 
tribe  knew  exactly  what  was  going  on  in  India,  it  would 

169 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

apologise  or  be  rude,  according  as  it  learned  whether  the 
Government  was  busy  with  other  things,  or  able  to  de- 
vote its  full  attention  to  their  performances.  Some  of 
the  tribes  knew  to  one  corpse  how  far  to  go.  Others  be- 
came excited,  lost  their  heads,  and  told  the  Government 
to  come  on.  With  sorrow  and  tears,  and  one  eye  on  the 
British  taxpayer  at  home,  who  insisted  on  regarding 
these  exercises  as  brutal  wars  of  annexation,  the  Govern- 
ment would  prepare  an  expensive  little  field-brigade  and 
some  guns,  and  send  all  up  into  the  hills  to  chase  the 
wicked  tribe  out  of  the  valleys,  where  the  corn  grew,  into 
the  hill-tops  where  there  was  nothing  to  eat.  The  tribe 
would  turn  out  in  full  strength  and  enjoy  the  campaign, 
for  they  knew  that  their  women  would  never  be  touched, 
that  their  wounded  would  be  nursed,  not  mutilated,  and 
that  as  soon  as  each  man's  bag  of  corn  was  spent  they 
could  surrender  and  palaver  with  the  English  General 
just  as  though  they  had  been  a  real  enemy.  Afterwards, 
years  afterwards,  they  would  pay  the  blood-money, 
driblet  by  driblet,  to  the  Government  and  tell  their 
children  how  they  had  slain  the  redcoats  by  thousands. 
The  only  drawback  to  this  kind  of  picnic-war  was  the 
weakness  of  the  redcoats  for  solemnly  blowing  up  with 
powder  their  fortified  towers  and  keeps.  This  the  tribes 
always  considered  mean. 

Chief  among  the  leaders  of  the  smaller  tribes — the 
little  clans  who  knew  to  a  penny  the  expense  of  moving 
white  troops  against  them^ — was  a  priest-bandit-chief 
whom  we  will  call  the  Gulla  Kutta  Mullah.  His  enthu- 
siasm for  border  murder  as  an  art  was  almost  dignified. 
He  would  cut  down  a  mail-runner  from  pure  wantonness, 
or  bombard  a  mud  fort  with  rifle  fire  when  he  knew  that 
our  men  needed  to  sleep.     In  his  leisure  moments  he 

170 


THE  LOST  LEGION 

would  go  on  circuit  among  his  neighbours,  and  try  to 
incite  other  tribes  to  devilry.  Also,  he  kept  a  kind  of 
hotel  for  fellow-outlaws  in  his  own  village,  which  lay  in  a 
valley  called  Bersund.  Any  respectable  murderer  on  that 
section  of  the  frontier  was  sure  to  lie  up  at  Bersund,  for  it 
was  reckoned  an  exceedingly  safe  place.  The  sole  entry 
to  it  ran  through  a  narrowgorge  which  could  be  converted 
into  a  death-trap  in  five  minutes.  It  was  surrounded 
by  high  hills,  reckoned  inaccessible  to  all  save  born 
mountaineers,  and  here  the  Gulla  Kutta  Mullah  lived 
in  great  state,  the  head  of  a  colony  of  mud  and  stone  huts, 
and  in  each  mud  hut  hung  some  portion  of  a  red  uniform 
and  the  plunder  of  dead  men.  The  Government  par- 
ticularly wished  for  his  capture,  and  once  invited  him 
formally  to  come  out  and  be  hanged  on  account  of  a  few 
of  the  murders  in  which  he  had  taken  a  direct  part.  He 
replied : — 

'  I  am  only  twenty  miles,  as  the  crow  flies,  from  your 
border.     Come  and  fetch  me.' 

'Some  day  we  will  come,'  said  the  Government,  *and 
hanged  you  will  be.' 

The  Gulla  Kutta  Mullah  let  the  matter  from  his  mind. 
He  knew  that  the  patience  of  the  Government  was  as 
long  as  a  summer  day;  but  he  did  not  reaHse  that  its  arm 
was  as  long  as  a  winter  night.  Months  afterwards, 
when  there  was  peace  on  the  border,  and  all  India  was 
quiet,  the  Indian  Government  turned  in  its  sleep  and 
remembered  the  Gulla  Kutta  Mullah  at  Bersund  with 
his  thirteen  outlaws.  The  movement  against  him  of 
one  single  regiment — which  the  telegrams  would  have 
translated  as  war — would  have  been  highly  impolitic. 
This  was  a  time  for  silence  and  speed,  and,  above  all, 
absence  of  bloodshed. 

171 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

You  must  know  that  all  along  the  north-west  frontier 
of  India  there  is  spread  a  force  of  some  thirty  thousand 
foot  and  horse,  whose  duty  it  is  quietly  and  unostenta- 
tiously to  shepherd  the  tribes  in  front  of  them.  They 
move  up  and  down,  and  down  and  up,  from  one  desolate 
Httle  post  to  another;  they  are  ready  to  take  the  field  at 
ten  minutes'  notice;  they  are  always  half  in  and  half  out 
of  a  difficulty  somewhere  along  the  monotonous  line; 
their  lives  are  as  hard  as  their  own  muscles,  and  the  pa- 
pers never  say  anything  about  them.  It  was  from  this 
force  that  the  Government  picked  its  men. 

One  night  at  a  station  where  the  mounted  Night  Pa- 
trol fire  as  they  challenge,  and  the  wheat  rolls  in  great 
blue-green  waves  under  our  cold  northern  moon,  the 
officers  were  playing  billiards  in  the  mud-walled  club- 
house, when  orders  came  to  them  that  they  were  to  go 
on  parade  at  once  for  a  night-drill.  They  grumbled,  and 
went  to  turn  out  their  men — a  hundred  English  troops, 
let  us  say,  two  hundred  Goorkhas,  and  about  a  hundred 
cavalry  of  the  finest  native  cavalry  in  the  world. 

When  they  were  on  the  parade-ground,  it  was  explained 
to  them  in  whispers  that  they  must  set  off  at  once  across 
the  hills  to  Bersund.'  The  English  troops  were  to  post 
themselves  round  the  hills  at  the  side  of  the  valley;  the 
Goorkhas  would  command  the  gorge  and  the  death-trap, 
and  the  cavalry  would  fetch  a  long  march  round  and  get 
to  the  back  of  the  circle  of  hills,  whence,  if  there  were 
any  difficulty,  they  could  charge  down  on  the  Mullah's 
men.  But  ofders  were  very  strict  that  there  should  be 
no  fighting  and  no  noise.  They  were  to  return  in  the 
morning  with  every  round  of  ammunition  intact,  and 
the  Mullah  and  his  thirteen  outlaws  bound  in  their  midst. 
If  they  were  successful,  no  one  would  know  or  care  any- 

172 


THE  LOST  LEGION 

thing  about  their  work;  but  faihire  meant  probably  a 
small  border  war,  in  which  the  Gulla  Kutta  Mullah  would 
pose  as  a  popular  leader  against  a  big  bullying  power, 
instead  of  a  common  border  murderer. 

Then  there  was  silence,  broken  only  by  the  clicking  of 
the  compass-needles  and  snapping  of  watch-cases,  as  the 
heads  of  columns  compared  bearings  and  made  appoint- 
ments for  the  rendezvous.  Five  minutes  later  the  pa- 
rade-ground was  empty ;  the  green  coats  of  the  Goorkhas 
and  the  overcoats  of  the  English  troops  had  faded  into 
the  darkness,  and  the  cavalry  were  cantering  away  in 
the  face  of  a  bhnding  drizzle. 

What  the  Goorkhas  and  the  English  did  will  be  seen 
later  on.  The  heavy  work  lay  with  the  horses,  for  they 
had  to  go  far  and  pick  their  way  clear  of  habitations. 
Many  of  the  troopers  were  natives  of  that  part  of  the 
world,  ready  and  anxious  to  fight  against  their  kin,  and 
some  of  the  officers  had  made  private  and  unofficial  ex- 
cursions into  those  hills  before.  They  crossed  the  bor- 
der, found  a  dried  river  bed,  cantered  up  that,  walked 
through  a  stony  gorge,  risked  crossing  a  low  hill  under 
cover  of  the  darkness,  skirted  another  hill,  leaving  their 
hoof-marks  deep  in  some  ploughed  ground,  felt  their 
way  along  another  watercourse,  ran  over  the  neck  of  a 
spur,  praying  that  no  one  would  hear  their  horses  grunt- 
ing, and  so  worked  on  in  the  rain  and  the  darkness,  till 
they  had  left  Bersund  and  its  crater  of  hills  a  little  be- 
hind them,  and  to  the  left,  and  it  was  time  to  swing  round. 
The  ascent  commanding  the  back  of  Bersund  was  steep, 
and  they  halted  to  draw  breath  in  a  broad  level  valley 
below  the  height.  That  is  to  say,  the  men  reined  up,  but 
the  horses,  blown  as  they  were,  refused  to  halt.  There 
was  unchristian  language,  the  worse  for  being  delivered 

173 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

in  a  whisper,  and  you  heard  the  saddles  squeaking  in  the 
darkness  as  the  horses  plunged. 

The  subaltern  at  the  rear  of  one  troop  turned  in  his 
saddle  and  said  very  softly: — 

'Carter,  what  the  blessed  heavens  are  you  doing  at 
the  rear?     Bring  your  men  up,  man.' 

There  was  no  answer,  till  a  trooper  replied : — 

'  Carter  Sahib  is  forward — not  there.  There  is  noth- 
ing behind  us.' 

'  There  is,'  said  the  subaltern.  *  The  squadron's  walk- 
ing on  its  own  tail.' 

Then  the  Major  in  command  moved  down  to  the  rear 
swearing  softly  and  asking  for  the  blood  of  Lieutenant 
Halley — the  subaltern  who  had  just  spoken. 

'Look  after  your  rearguard,'  said  the  Major.  'Some 
of  your  infernal  thieves  have  got  lost.  They're  at  the 
head  of  the  squadron,  and  you're  a  several  kinds  of 
idiot.' 

'  Shall  I  tell  off  my  men,  sir? '  said  the  subaltern  sulkily, 
for  he  was  feeling  wet  and  cold. 

*Tell  'em  of!!'  said  the  Major.  'Whip  'em  off,  by 
Gad!  You're  squandering  them  all  over  the  place. 
There's  a  troop  behind  you  now!' 

'So  I  was  thinking,'  said  the  subaltern  calmly.  'I 
have  all  my  men  here,  sir.     Better  speak  to  Carter.' 

*  Carter  Sahib  sends  salaam  and  wants  to  know  why  the 
regiment  is  stopping, '  said  a  trooper  to  Lieutenant  Halley. 

*  Where  under  heaven  is  Carter?'  said  the  Major. 
'  Forward  with  his  troop,'  was  the  answer. 

'Are  we  walking  in  a  ring,  then,  or  are  we  the  centre 
of  a  blessed  brigade?'  said  the  Major. 

By  this  time  there  was  silence  all  along  the  column. 
The  horses  were  still;  but,  through  the  drive  of  the  fine 

174 


THE  LOST  LEGION 

rain,  men  could  hear  the  feet  of  many  horses  moving 
over  stony  ground. 

'We're  being  stalked,'  said  Lieutenant  Halley. 

'They've  no  horses  here.  Besides,  they'd  have  fired 
before  this,' said  the  Major.    'It's — it's  villagers'  ponies.' 

'Then  our  horses  would  have  neighed  and  spoilt  the 
attack  long  ago.  They  must  have  been  near  us  for  half 
an  hour,'  said  the  subaltern. 

'Queer  that  we  can't  smell  the  horses,'  said  the  Major, 
damping  his  finger  and  rubbing  it  on  his  nose  as  he  snifTed 
up  wind. 

'Well,  it's  a  bad  start,'  said  the  subaltern,  shaking  the 
wet  from  his  overcoat.     '  What  shall  we  do,  sir? ' 

'  Get  on,'  said  the  Major.     '  We  shall  catch  it  to-night.' 

The  column  moved  forward  very  gingerly  for  a  few 
paces.  Then  there  was  an  oath,  a  shower  of  blue  sparks 
as  shod  hooves  crashed  on  small  stones,  and  a  man  rolled 
over  with  a  jangle  of  accoutrements  that  would  have 
waked  the  dead. 

'Now  we've  gone  and  done  it,'  said  Lieutenant  Halley. 
'AH  the  hillside  awake,  and  all  the  hillside  to  climb  in  the 
face  of  musketry-fire.  This  comes  of  trying  to  do  night- 
hawk  wprk.' 

The  trembling  trooper  picked  himself  up,  and  tried  to 
explain  that  his  horse  had  fallen  over  one  of  the  little 
cairns  that  are  built  of  loose  stones  on  the  spot  where  a 
man  has  been  murdered.  There  was  no  need  for  reasons. 
The  Major's  big  Australian  charger  blundered  next,  and 
the  column  came  to  a  halt  in  what  seemed  to  be  a  very 
graveyard  of  little  cairns  all  about  two  feet  high.  The 
manoeuvres  of  the  squadron  are  not  reported.  Men 
said  that  it  felt  like  mounted  quadrilles  without  training 
and  without  the  music;  but  at  last  the  horses,  breaking 

175 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

rank  and  choosing  their  own  way,  walked  clear  of  the 
cairns,  till  every  man  of  the  squadron  re-formed  and 
drew  rein  a  few  yards  up  the  slope  of  the  hill.  Then, 
according  to  Lieutenant  Halley,  there  was  another  scene 
very  like  the  one  which  has  been  described.  The  Major 
and  Carter  insisted  that  all  the  men  had  not  joined  rank, 
and  that  there  were  more  of  them  in  the  rear  clicking 
and  blundering  among  the  dead  men's  cairns.  Lieu- 
tenant Halley  told  off  his  own  troopers  once  again  and 
resigned  himself  to  wait.     Later  on  he  told  me : — 

'I  didn't  much  know,  and  I  didn't  much  care  what 
was  going  on.  The  row  of  that  trooper  falling  ought  to 
have  scared  half  the  country,  and  I  would  take  my  oath 
that  we  were  being  stalked  by  a  full  regiment  in  the  rear, 
and  they  were  making  row  enough  to  rouse  all  Afghanis- 
tan.    I  sat  tight,  but  nothing  happened.' 

The  mysterious  part  of  the  night's  work  was  the  silence 
on  the  hillside.  Everybody  knew  that  the  GuUa  Kutta 
Mullah  had  his  outpost  huts  on  the  reverse  side  of  the 
hill,  and  everybody  expected  by  the  time  that  the  Ma- 
jor had  sworn  himself  into  a  state  of  quiet  that  the  watch- 
men there  would  open  fire.  When  nothing  occurred, 
they  said  that  the  gusts  of  the  rain  had  deadened  the 
sound  of  the  horses,  and  thanked  Providence.  At  last 
the  Major  satisfied  himself  (a)  that  he  had  left  no  one 
behind  among  the  cairns,  and  (b)  that  he  was  not  being 
taken  in  the  rear  by  a  large  and  powerful  body  of  cavalry. 
The  men's  tempers  were  thoroughly  spoiled,  the  horses 
were  lathered  and  unquiet,  and  one  and  all  prayed  for 
the  daylight. 

They  set  themselves  to  climb  up  the  hill,  each  man 
leading  his  mount  carefully.  Before  they  had  covered 
the  lower  slopes  or  the  breastplates  had  begun  to  tighten, 

176 


THE  LOST  LEGION 

a  thunder-storm  came  up  behind,  rolling  across  the  low 
hills  and  drowning  any  noise  less  than  that  of  cannon. 
The  hrst  flash  of  the  lightning  showed  the  bare  ribs  of 
the  ascent,  the  hill-crest  standing  steely  blue  against 
the  black  sky,  the  little  falling  lines  of  the  rain,  and,  a 
few  yards  to  their  left  flank,  an  Afghan  watch-tower, 
two-storied,  built  of  stone,  and  entered  by  a  ladder  from 
the  upper  story.  The  ladder  was  up,  and  a  man  with  a 
rifle  was  leaning  from  the  window.  The  darkness  and 
the  thunder  rolled  down  in  an  instant,  and,  when  the 
lull  followed,  a  voice  from  the  watch-tower  cried,  *\Vho 
goes  there?' 

The  cavalry  were  very  quiet,  but  each  man  gripped 
his  carbine  and  stood  beside  his  horse.  Again  the  voice 
called,  '  Who  goes  there? '  and  in  a  louder  key, '  0,  broth- 
ers, give  the  alarm ! '  Now,  every  man  in  the  cavalry 
would  have  died  in  his  long  boots  sooner  than  have  asked 
for  quarter;  but  it  is  a  fact  that  the  answ^er  to  the  second 
call  was  a  long  wail  of  '  Marf  karo !  Marf  karo ! '  which 
means,  'Have  mercy!  Have  mercy!'  It  came  from 
the  climbing  regiment. 

The  cavalry  stood  dumbfoundered,  till  the  big  troopers 
had  time  to  w^hisper  one  to  another:  'Mir  Khan,  was 
that  thy  voice?  Abdullah,  didst  thou  call? '  Lieutenant 
Halley  stood  beside  his  charger  and  waited.  So  long  as 
no  firing  was  going  on  he  was  content.  Another  flash 
of  lightning  showed  the  horses  with  heaving  flanks  and 
nodding  heads,  the  men,  white-eyeballed,  glaring  beside 
them,  and  the  stone  watch-tower  to  the  left.  This  time 
there  was  no  head  at  the  window,  and  the  rude  iron- 
clamped  shutter  that  could  turn  a  rifle  bullet  was  closed. 

'Go  on,  men,'  said  the  Major.  'Get  up  to  the  top  at 
any  rate.'     The  squadron  toiled  forward,  the   horses 

177 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

wagging  their  tails  and  the  men  pulling  at  the  bridles, 
the  stones  rolling  down  the  hillside  and  the  sparks  flying. 
Lieutenant  Halley  declares  that  he  never  heard  a  squad- 
ron make  so  much  noise  in  his  life.  They  scrambled  up, 
he  said,  as  though  each  horse  had  eight  legs  and  a  spare 
horse  to  follow  him.  Even  then  there  was  no  sound 
from  the  watch-tower,  and  the  men  stopped  exhausted 
on  the  ridge  that  overlooked  the  pit  of  darkness  in  which 
the  village  of  Bersund  lay.  Girths  were  loosed,  curb- 
chains  shifted,  and  saddles  adjusted,  and  the  men  dropped 
down  among  the  stones.  Whatever  might  happen  now, 
they  had  the  upper  ground  of  any  attack. 

The  thunder  ceased,  and  with  it  the  rain,  and  the  soft 
thick  darkness  of  a  winter  night  before  the  dawn  covered 
them  all.  Except  for  the  sound  of  falling  water  among 
the  ravines  below,  everything  was  still.  They  heard 
the  shutter  of  the  watch-tower  below  them  thrown  back 
with  a  clang,  and  the  voice  of  the  watcher  calling:  *0 
HafizUllah!' 

The  echoes  took  up  the  call,  '  La-la-la ! '  And  an  an- 
swer came  from  the  watch-tower  hidden  round  the  curve 
of  the  hill,  *  What  is  it,  Shahbaz  Khan?' 

Shahbaz  Khan  replied  in  the  high-pitched  voice  of  the 
mountaineer:  'Hast  thou  seen?' 

The  answer  came  back:  *Yes.  God  deliver  us  from 
all  evil  spirits ! ' 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then : '  Hafiz  UUah,  I  am  alone ! 
Come  to  me!' 

*  Shahbaz  Khan,  I  am  alone  also,  but  I  dare  not  leave 
my  post!' 

*That  is  a  lie;  thou  art  afraid.' 

A  longer  pause  followed,  and  then:  'I  am  afraid.  Be 
silent !    They  are  below  us  still.    Pray  to  God  and  sleep.' 

178 


THE  LOST  LEGION 

The  troopers  listened  and  wondered,  for  they  could 
not  understand  what  save  earth  and  stone  could  lie  be- 
low the  watch-towers. 

Shahbaz  Khan  began  to  call  again:  'They  are  below 
us.  I  can  see  them.  For  the  pity  of  God  come  over  to  me, 
HafizUllah!    My  father  slew  ten  of  them.    Come  over!' 

Hafiz  Ullah  answered  in  a  very  loud  voice,  '  Mine  was 
guiltless.  Hear,  ye  Men  of  the  Night,  neither  my  father 
nor  my  blood  had  any  part  in  that  sin.  Bear  thou  thy 
own  punishment,  Shahbaz  Khan.' 

'Oh,  some  one  ought  to  stop  those  two  chaps  crowing 
away  like  cocks  there,'  said  Lieutenant  Halley,  shiver- 
ing under  his  rock. 

He  had  hardly  turned  round  to  expose  a  new  side  of 
him  to  the  rain  before  a  bearded,  long-locked,  evil-smell- 
ing Afghan  rushed  up  the  hill,  and  tumbled  into  his  arms. 
Halley  sat  upon  him,  and  thrust  as  much  of  a  sword-hilt 
as  could  be  spared  down  the  man's  gullet.  'If  you  cry 
out,  I  kill  you,'  he  said  cheerfully. 

The  man  was  beyond  any  expression  of  terror.  He 
lay  and  quaked,  grunting.  When  Halley  took  the  sword- 
hilt  from  between  his  teeth,  he  was  still  inarticulate,  but 
clung  to  Halley's  arm,  feeling  it  from  elbow  to  wrist. 

'The  Rissala!  The  dead  Rissala!'  he  gasped.  'It  is 
down  there ! ' 

'No;  the  Rissala,  the  very  much  alive  Rissala.  It  is 
up  here,'  said  Halley,  unshipping  his  watering-bridle, 
and  fastening  the  man's  hands.  '  Why  were  you  in  the 
towers  so  foolish  as  to  let  us  pass?' 

*The  valley  is  full  of  the  dead,'  said  the  Afghan.  '  It 
is  better  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  English  than  the 
hands  of  the  dead.  They  march  to  and  fro  below  there. 
I  saw  them  in  the  lightning.' 

179 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

He  recovered  his  composure  after  a  little,  and  whisper- 
ing, because  Halley's  pistol  was  at  his  stomach,  said: 
'What  is  this?  There  is  no  war  between  us  now,  and 
the  Mullah  will  kill  me  for  not  seeing  you  pass!' 

'Rest  easy,'  said  Halley;  'we  are  coming  to  kill  the 
Mullah,  if  God  please.  His  teeth  have  grown  too  long. 
No  harm  will  come  to  thee  unless  the  daylight  shows 
thee  as  a  face  which  is  desired  by  the  gallows  for  crime 
done.     But  what  of  the  dead  regiment? ' 

'I  only  kill  within  my  own  border,'  said  the  man,  im- 
mensely relieved.  'The  Dead  Regiment  is  below.  The 
men  must  have  passed  through  it  on  their  journey — four 
hundred  dead  on  horses,  stumbling  among  their  own 
graves,  among  the  little  heaps — dead  men  all,  whom  we 
slew.' 

'Whew!'  said  Halley.  'That  accounts  for  my  curs- 
ing Carter  and  the  Major  cursing  me.  Four  hundred 
sabres,  eh?  No  wonder  we  thought  there  were  a  few 
extra  men  in  the  troop.  Kurruk  Shah,'  he  whispered 
to  a  grizzled  native  officer  that  lay  within  a  few  feet  of 
him, '  hast  thou  heard  anything  of  a  dead  Rissala  in  these 
hills?' 

'Assuredly,'  said  Kurruk  Shah  with  a  grim  chuckle. 
'Otherwise,  why  did  I,  who  have  served  the  Queen  for 
seven-and-twenty  years,  and  killed  many  hill-dogs,  shout 
aloud  for  quarter  when  the  lightning  revealed  us  to  the 
watch-towers?  When  I  was  a  young  man  I  saw  the 
killing  in  the  valley  of  Sheor-Kot  there  at  our  feet,  and  I 
know  the  tale  that  grew  up  therefrom.  But  how  can 
the  ghosts  of  unbelievers  prevail  against  us  who  are  of 
the  Faith?  Strap  that  dog's  hands  a  little  tighter,  Sa- 
hib.    An  Afghan  is  like  an  eel.' 

'  But  a  dead  Rissala,'  said  Halley,  jerking  his  captive's 

180 


THE  LOST  LEGION 

wrist.  'That  is  foolish  talk,  Kurruk  Shah.  The  dead 
are  dead.     Hold  still,  sag.'    The  Afghan  wriggled. 

'The  dead  are  dead,  and  for  that  reason  they  walk  at 
night.  What  need  to  talk?  We  be  men;  we  have  our 
eyes  and  ears.  Thou  canst  both  see  and  hear  them, 
down  the  hillside,'  said  Kurruk  Shah  composedly. 

Halley  stared  and  listened  long  and  intently.  The 
valley  was  full  of  stifled  noises,  as  every  valley  must  be 
at  night;  but  whether  he  saw  or  heard  more  than  was 
natural  Halley  alone  knows,  and  he  does  not  choose  to 
speak  on  the  subject. 

At  last,  and  just  before  the  dawn,  a  green  rocket  shot 
up  from  the  far  side  of  the  valley  of  Bersund,  at  the  head 
of  the  gorge,  to  show  that  the  Goorkhas  were  in  position. 
A  red  light  from  the  infantry  at  left  and  right  answered 
it,  and  the  cavalry  burnt  a  white  flare.  Afghans  in  win- 
ter are  late  sleepers,  and  it  was  not  till  full  day  that  the 
Gulla  Kutta  Mullah's  men  began  to  straggle  from  their 
huts,  rubbing  their  eyes.  They  saw  men  in  green,  and 
red,  and  brown  uniforms,  leaning  on  their  arms,  neatly 
arranged  all  round  the  crater  of  the  village  of  Bersund, 
in  a  cordon  that  not  even  a  wolf  could  have  broken. 
They  rubbed  their  eyes  the  more  when  a  pink-faced 
young  man,  who  was  not  even  in  the  Army,  but  repre- 
sented the  Political  Department,  tripped  down  the  hill- 
side with  two  orderlies,  rapped  at  the  door  of  the  Gulla 
Kutta  Mullah's  house,  and  told  him  quietly  to  step  out 
and  be  tied  up  for  safe  transport.  That  same  young 
man  passed  on  through  the  huts,  tapping  here  one 
cateran  and  there  another  lightly  with  his  cane;  and  as 
each  was  pointed  out,  so  he  was  tied  up,  staring  hope- 
lessly at  the  crowned  heights  around  where  the  English 
soldiers  looked  down  with  incurious  eyes.     Only  the 

181 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Mullah  tried  to  carry  it  off  with  curses  and  high  words, 
till  a  soldier  who  was  tying  his  hands  said : — 

'None  o'  your  lip!  Why  didn't  you  come  out  when 
you  was  ordered,  instead  o'  keepin'  us  awake  all  night? 
You're  no  better  than  my  own  barrack-sweeper,  you 
white-  'eaded  old  polyanthus !     Kim  up ! ' 

Half  an  hour  later  the  troops  had  gone  away  with  the 
Mullah  and  his  thirteen  friends.  The  dazed  villagers 
were  looking  ruefully  at  a  pile  of  broken  muskets  and 
snapped  swords,  and  wondering  how  in  the  world  they 
had  come  so  to  miscalculate  the  forbearance  of  the  In- 
dian Government. 

It  was  a  very  neat  little  affair,  neatly  carried  out,  and 
the  men  concerned  were  unofficially  thanked  for  their 
services. 

Yet  it  seems  to  me  that  much  credit  is  also  due  to 
another  regiment  whose  name  did  not  appear  in  the 
brigade  orders,  and  whose  very  existence  is  in  danger  of 
being  forgotten. 


182 


IN  THE  RUKH 

(1892) 

The  Only  Son  lay  down  again  and  dreamed  that  he 

dreamed  a  dream. 
The  last  ash  dropped  from  the  dying  fire  with  the  chck 

of  a  falling  spark, 
And  the  Only  Son  woke  up  again  and  called  across  the 

dark : — 
'Now,  was  I  born  of  womankind  and  laid  in  a  mother's 

breast? 
For  I  have  dreamed  of  a  shaggy  hide  whereon  I  went  to 

rest. 
And  was  I  born  of  womankind  and  laid  on  a  father's  arm? 
For  I  have  dreamed  of  long  white  teeth  that  guarded  me 

from  harm. 
Oh,  was  I  born  of  womankind  and  did  I  play  alone? 
For  I  have  dreamed  of  playmates  twain  that  bit  me  to 

the  bone. 
And  did  I  break  the  barley  bread  and  steep  it  in  the  tyre? 
For  I  have  dreamed  of  a  youngling  kid  new  riven  from 

the  byre. 
An  hour  it  lacks  and  an  hour  it  lacks  to  the  rising  of  the 

moon — 
But  I  can  see  the  black  roof-beams  as  plain  as  it  were 

noon! 

183 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

*Tis  a  league  and  a  league  to  the  Lena  Falls  where  the 

trooping  sambhur  go, 
But  I  can  hear  the  little  fawn  that  bleats  behind  the  doe! 
'Tis  a  league  and  a  league  to  the  Lena  Falls  where  the 

crop  and  the  upland  meet, 
But  I  can  smell  the  warm  wet  wind  that  whispers  through 

the  wheat ! ' 

'The  Only  Son.* 

OF  the  wheels  of  public  service  that  turn  under  the 
Indian  Government,  there  is  none  more  impor- 
tant than  the  Department  of  Woods  and  Forests. 
The  reboisement  of  all  India  is  in  its  hands;  or  will  be 
when  Government  has  the  money  to  spend.  Its  ser- 
vants wrestle  with  wandering  sand-torrents  and  shifting 
dunes:  wattling  them  at  the  sides,  damming  them  in 
front,  and  pegging  them  down  atop  with  coarse  grass 
and  spindling  pine  after  the  rules  of  Nancy.  They  are 
responsible  for  all  the  timber  in  the  State  forests  of  the 
Himalayas,  as  well  as  for  the  denuded  hillsides  that  the 
monsoons  wash  into  dry  gullies  and  aching  ravines;  each 
cut  a  mouth  crying  aloud  what  carelessness  can  do. 
They  experiment  with  battalions  of  foreign  trees,  and 
coax  the  blue  gum  to  take  root,  and,  perhaps,  dry  up  the 
Canal  fever.  In  the  plains  the  chief  part  of  their  duty 
is  to  see  that  the  belt  fire-lines  in  the  forest  reserves  are 
kept  clean,  so  that  when  drought  comes  and  the  cattle 
starve,  they  may  throw  the  reserve  open  to  the  villager's 
herds  and  allow  the  man  himself  to  gather  sticks.  They 
poll  and  lop  for  the  stacked  railway-fuel  along  the  lines 
that  burn  no  coal ;  they  calculate  the  profit  of  their  plan- 
tations to  five  points  of  decimals;  they  are  the  doctors 
and  midwives  of  the  huge  teak  forests  of  Upper  Burma, 

184 


IN  THE  RUKH 

the  rubber  of  the  Eastern  Jungles,  and  the  gall-nuts  of 
the  South;  and  they  are  always  hampered  by  lack  of 
funds.  But  since  a  Forest  Officer's  business  takes  him 
far  from  the  beaten  roads  and  the  regular  stations,  he 
learns  to  grow  wise  in  more  than  wood-lore  alone;  to 
know  the  people  and  the  polity  of  the  jungle:  meeting 
tiger,  bear,  leopard,  wild-dog,  and  all  the  deer,  not  once 
or  twice  after  days  of  beating,  but  again  and  again  in 
the  execution  of  his  duty.  He  spends  much  time  in  sad- 
dle or  under  canvas — the  friend  of  newly-planted  trees, 
the  associate  of  uncouth  rangers  and  hairy  trackers — 
till  the  woods,  that  show  his  care,  in  turn  set  their  mark 
upon  him,  and  he  ceases  to  sing  the  naughty  French 
songs  he  learned  at  Nancy,  and  grows  silent  with  the 
silent  things  of  the  underbrush. 

Gisborne  of  the  Woods  and  Forests  had  spent  four 
years  in  the  service.  At  first  he  loved  it  without  com- 
prehension, because  it  led  him  into  the  open  on  horseback 
and  gave  him  authority.  Then  he  hated  it  furiously, 
and  would  have  given  a  year's  pay  for  one  month  of  such 
society  as  India  affords.  That  crisis  over,  the  forests 
took  him  back  again,  and  he  was  content  to  serve  them, 
to  deepen  and  widen  his  fire-lines,  to  watch  the  green 
mist  of  his  new  plantation  against  the  older  foliage,  to 
dredge  outthe  cnokedstream,  and  tofollowand  strengthen 
the  last  struggle  of  the  forest  where  it  broke  down  and 
died  among  the  long  pig-grass.  On  some  still  day  that 
grass  would  be  burned  off,  and  a  hundred  beasts  that 
had  their  homes  there  would  rush  out  before  the  pale 
flames  at  high  noon.  Later,  the  forest  would  creep  for- 
ward over  the  blackened  ground  in  orderly  lines  of  sap- 
lings, and  Gisborne,  watching,  would  be  well  pleased. 
His  bungalow,  a  thatched  white-walled  cottage  of  two 

185 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

rooms,  was  set  at  one  end  of  the  great  rukh  and  over- 
looking it.  He  made  no  pretence  at  keeping  a  garden, 
for  the  rukh  swept  up  to  his  door,  curled  over  in  a  thicket 
of  bamboo,  and  he  rode  from  his  veranda  into  its  heart 
without  the  need  of  any  carriage-drive. 

Abdul  Gafur,  his  fat  Mohammedan  butler,  fed  him 
when  he  was  at  home,  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  time  gos- 
siping with  the  little  band  of  native  servants  whose  huts 
lay  behind  the  bungalow.  There  were  two  grooms,  a 
cook,  a  water-carrier,  and  a  sweeper,  and  that  was  all. 
Gisborne  cleaned  his  own  guns  and  kept  no  dog.  Dogs 
scared  the  game,  and  it  pleased  the  man  to  be  able  to  say 
where  the  subjects  of  his  kingdom  would  drink  at  moon- 
rise,  eat  before  dawn,  and  lie  up  in  the  day's  heat.  The 
rangers  and  forest-guards  lived  in  little  huts  far  away  in 
the  rukh,  only  appearing  when  one  of  them  had  been 
injured  by  a  falling  tree  or  a  wild  beast.  Thus  Gisborne 
was  alone. 

In  spring  the  rukh  put  out  few  new  leaves,  but  lay  dry 
and  still  untouched  by  the  finger  of  the  year,  waiting  for 
rain.  Only  there  was  then  more  calling  and  roaring  in 
the  dark  on  a  quiet  night;  the  tumult  of  a  battle-royal 
among  the  tigers,  the  bellowing  of  arrogant  buck,  or  the 
steady  wood-chopping  of  an  old  boar  sharpening  his 
tushes  against  a  bole.  Then  Gisborne  laid  aside  his 
little-used  gun  altogether,  for  it  was  to  him  a  sin  to  kill. 
In  summer,  through  the  furious  May  heats,  the  rukh 
reeled  in  the  haze,  and  Gisborne  watched  for  the  first 
sign  of  curling  smoke  that  should  betray  a  forest  fire. 
Then  came  the  Rains  with  a  roar,  and  the  rukh  was  blotted 
out  in  fetch  after  fetch  of  warm  mist,  and  the  broad 
leaves  drummed  the  night  through  under  the  big  drops; 
and  there  was  a  noise  of  running  water,  and  of  juicy 

186 


IN  THE  RUKH 

green  stuff  crackling  where  the  wind  struck  it,  and  the 
lightning  wove  patterns  behind  the  dense  matting  of  the 
foHage,  till  the  sun  broke  loose  again  and  the  rukh  stood 
with  hot  flanks  smoking  to  the  newly-washed  sky.  Then 
the  heat  and  the  dry  cold  subdued  everything  to  tiger- 
colour  again.  So  Gisborne  learned  to  know  his  rukh  and 
was  very  happy.  His  pay  came  month  by  month,  but 
he  had  very  little  need  for  money.  The  currency  notes 
accumulated  in  the  drawer  where  he  kept  his  home- 
letters  and  the  recapping-machine.  If  he  drew  any- 
thing, it  was  to  make  a  purchase  from  the  Calcutta 
Botanical  Gardens,  or  to  pay  a  ranger's  widow  a  sum 
that  the  Government  of  India  would  never  have  sanc- 
tioned for  her  man's  death. 

Payment  was  good,  but  vengeance  was  also  necessary, 
and  he  took  that  when  he  could.  One  night  of  many 
nights  a  runner,  breathless  and  gasping,  came  to  him 
with  the  news  that  a  forest-guard  lay  dead  by  the  Kanye 
stream,  the  side  of  his  head  smashed  in  as  though  it  had 
been  an  egg-shell.  Gisborne  went  out  at  dawn  to  look 
for  the  murderer.  It  is  only  travellers,  and  now  and 
then  young  soldiers,  who  are  known  to  the  world  as  great 
hunters.  The  Forest  OfTicers  take  their  shikar  as  part 
of  the  day's  work,  and  no  one  hears  of  it.  Gisborne 
went  on  foot  to  the  place  of  the  kill :  the  widow  was  wail- 
ing over  the  corpse  as  it  lay  on  a  bedstead,  while  two  or 
three  men  were  looking  at  footprints  on  the  moist  ground. 
'That  is  the  Red  One,*  said  a  man.  'I  knew  he  would 
turn  to  man  in  time,  but  surely  there  is  game  enough 
even  for  him.     This  must  have  been  done  for  devilry.' 

*The  Red  One  lies  up  in  the  rocks  at  the  back  of  the  sal 
trees,'  said  Gisborne.    He  knew  the  tiger  under  suspicion. 

*Not  now,  Sahib,  not  now.     He  will  be  raging  and 

187 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

ranging  to  and  fro.  Remember  that  the  first  kill  is  a 
triple  kill  always.  Our  blood  makes  them  mad.  He 
may  be  behind  us  even  as  we  speak.' 

'He  may  have  gone  to  the  next  hut,'  said  another. 
'  It  is  only  four  koss.     Wallah,  who  is  this? ' 

Gisborne  turned  with  the  others.  A  man  was  walk- 
ing down  the  dried  bed  of  the  stream,  naked  except  for 
the  loin-cloth,  but  crowned  with  a  wreath  of  the  tasselled 
blossoms  of  the  white  convolvulus  creeper.  So  noise- 
lessly did  he  move  over  the  little  pebbles  that  even  Gis- 
borne, used  to  the  soft-footedness  of  trackers,  started. 

'The  tiger  that  killed,'  he  began,  without  any  salute, 
'has  gone  to  drink,  and  now  he  is  asleep  under  a  rock 
beyond  that  hill.'  His  voice  was  clear  and  bell-like, 
utterly  different  from  the  usual  whine  of  the  native,  and 
his  face  as  he  lifted  it  in  the  sunshine  might  have  been 
that  of  an  angel  strayed  among  the  woods.  The  widow 
ceased  wailing  above  the  corpse  and  looked  round-eyed 
at  the  stranger,  returning  to  her  duty  with  double 
strength. 

'  Shall  I  show  the  Sahib? '  he  said  simply. 

'  If  thou  art  sure — '  Gisborne  began. 

'Sure  indeed.  I  saw  him  only  an  hour  ago — the  dog. 
It  is  before  his  time  to  eat  man's  flesh.  He  has  yet  a 
dozen  sound  teeth  in  his  evil  head.' 

The  men  kneeling  above  the  footprints  slunk  off 
quietly,  for  fear  that  Gisborne  should  ask  them  to  go 
with  him,  and  the  young  man  laughed  a  little  to  himself. 

'Come,  Sahib,'  he  cried,  and  turned  on  his  heel,  walk- 
ing before  his  companion. 

'  Not  so  fast.  I  cannot  keep  that  pace,'  said  the  white 
man.     '  Halt  there.     Thy  face  is  new  to  me.' 

*  That  may  be.     I  am  but  newly  come  into  this  forest. ' 

188 


IN  THE  RUKH 

'  From  what  village?' 

'I  am  without  a  village.  I  came  from  over  there.' 
He  flung  out  his  arm  towards  the  north. 

'A  gipsy  then?' 

'No,  Sahib.  I  am  a  man  without  caste,  and  for  mat- 
ter of  that  without  a  father.' 

'What  do  men  call  thee?' 

'  Mowgli,  Sahib.     And  what  is  the  Sahib's  name? ' 

'  I  am  the  warden  of  this  rukh — Gisborne  is  my  name.' 

'How?  Do  they  number  the  trees  and  the  blades  of 
grass  here? ' 

'  Even  so ;  lest  such  gipsy  fellows  as  thou  set  them  afire . ' 

'I!  I  would  not  hurt  the  jungle  for  any  gift.  That 
is  my  home.' 

He  turned  to  Gisborne  with  a  smile  that  was  irresisti- 
ble, and  held  up  a  warning  hand. 

'Now,  Sahib,  we  must  go  a  little  quietly.  There  is  no 
need  to  wake  the  dog,  though  he  sleeps  heavily  enough. 
Perhaps  it  were  better  if  I  went  forward  alone  and  drove 
him  down  wind  to  the  Sahib.' 

'Allah!  Since  when  have  tigers  been  driven  to  and 
fro  like  cattle  by  naked  men?'  said  Gisborne,  aghast  at 
the  man's  audacity. 

He  laughed  again  softly.  'Nay,  then,  come  along 
with  me  and  shoot  him  in  thy  own  way  with  the  big 
English  rifle.' 

Gisborne  stepped  in  his  guide's  track,  twisted,  crawled, 
and  clomb  and  stooped  and  suffered  through  all  the 
many  agonies  of  a  jungle-stalk.  He  was  purple  and 
dripping  with  sweat  when  Mowgli  at  the  last  bade  him 
raise  his  head  and  peer  over  a  blue  baked  rock  near  a 
tiny  hill  pool.  By  the  waterside  lay  the  tiger  extended 
and  at  ease,  lazily  licking  clean  again  an  enormous  elbow 

189 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

and  fore-paw.  He  was  old,  yellow-toothed,  and  not  a 
little  mangy,  but  in  that  setting  and  sunshine,  imposing 
enough. 

Gisborne  had  no  false  ideas  of  sport  where  the  man- 
eater  was  concerned.  This  thing  was  vermin,  to  be 
killed  as  speedily  as  possible.  He  waited  to  recover  his 
breath,  rested  the  rifle  on  the  rock  and  whistled.  The 
brute's  head  turned  slowly  not  twenty  feet  from  the 
rifle-mouth,  and  Gisborne  planted  his  shots,  business- 
like, one  behind  the  shoulder  and  the  other  a  little  below 
the  eye.  At  that  range  the  heavy  bones  were  no  guard 
against  the  rending  bullets. 

'Well,  the  skin  was  not  worth  keeping  at  any  rate,' 
said  he,  as  the  smoke  cleared  away  and  the  beast  lay 
kicking  and  gasping  in  the  last  agony. 

'A  dog's  death  for  a  dog,'  said  Mowgli  quietly.  'In- 
deed there  is  nothing  in  that  carrion  worth  taking  away.' 

'  The  whiskers.  Dost  thou  not  take  the  whiskers? '  said 
Gisborne,  who  knew  how  the  rangers  valued  such  things. 

'I?  Am  I  a  lousy  shikarri  of  the  jungle  to  paddle 
with  a  tiger's  muzzle?  Let  him  lie.  Here  come  his 
friends  already.' 

A  dropping  kite  whistled  shrilly  overhead,  as  Gisborne 
snapped  out  the  empty  shells,  and  wiped  his  face. 

*  And  if  thou  art  not  a  shikarri,  where  didst  thou  learn 
thy  knowledge  of  the  tiger-folk?'  said  he.  'No  tracker 
could  have  done  better.' 

'  I  hate  all  tigers,'  said  Mowgli  curtly.  '  Let  the  Sa- 
hib give  me  his  gun  to  carry.  Arre,  it  is  a  very  fine  one ! 
And  where  does  the  Sahib  go  now?' 

'To  my  house.' 

'  May  I  come?  I  have  never  yet  looked  withinsides 
a  white  man's  house.' 

190 


IN  THE  RUKH 

Gisborne  returned  to  his  bungalow,  Mowgli  striding 
noiselessly  before  him,  his  brown  skin  glistening  in  the 
sunlight. 

He  stared  curiously  at  the  veranda  and  the  two  chairs 
there,  fingered  the  split  bamboo  shade  curtains  with  sus- 
picion, and  entered,  looking  always  behind  him.  Gis- 
borne loosed  a  curtain  to  keep  out  the  sun.  It  dropped 
with  a  clatter,  but  almost  before  it  touched  the  flagging 
of  the  veranda  Mowgli  had  leaped  clear,  and  was  stand- 
ing with  heaving  chest  in  the  open. 

*  It  is  a  trap,'  he  said  quickly. 

Gisborne  laughed.  'White  men  do  not  trap  men. 
Indeed  thou  art  altogether  of  the  jungle.' 

'I  see,'  said  Mowgli,  'it  has  neither  catch  nor  fall.  I 
— I  never  beheld  these  things  till  to-day.' 

He  came  in  on  tiptoe  and  stared  with  large  eyes  at  the 
furniture  of  the  two  rooms.  Abdul  Gafur,  who  was  lay- 
ing lunch,  looked  at  him  with  deep  disgust. 

'So  much  trouble  to  eat,  and  so  much  trouble  to  lie 
down  after  you  have  eaten!'  said  Mowgli  with  a  grin. 
'We  do  better  in  the  jungle.  It  is  very  wonderful. 
There  are  very  many  rich  things  here.  Is  the  Sahib  not 
afraid  that  he  may  be  robbed?  I  have  never  seen  such 
wonderful  things.'  He  was  staring  at  a  dusty  Benares 
brass  plate  on  a  rickety  bracket. 

'Only  a  thief  from  the  jungle  would  rob  here,'  said 
Abdul  Gafur,  setting  down  a  plate  with  a  clatter.  Mow- 
gli opened  his  eyes  wide  and  stared  at  the  white-bearded 
Mohammedan. 

'In  my  country  when  goats  bleat  very  loud  we  cut 
their  throats,'  he  returned  cheerfully.  *But  have  no 
fear,  thou.     I  am  going.* 

He  turned  and  disappeared  into  the  rukh.     Gisborne 

191 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

looked  after  him  with  a  laugh  that  ended  in  a  little  sigh. 
There  was  not  much  outside  his  regular  work  to  interest 
the  Forest  Officer,  and  this  son  of  the  forest,  who  seemed 
to  know  tigers  as  other  people  know  dogs,  would  have 
been  a  diversion. 

'He's  a  most  wonderful  chap,'  thought  Gisborne;  'he's 
like  the  illustrations  in  the  Classical  Dictionary.  I  wish 
I  could  have  made  him  a  gun-boy.  There's  no  fun  in 
shikarring  alone,  and  this  fellow  would  have  been  a  per- 
fect shikarri.     I  wonder  what  in  the  world  he  is.' 

That  evening  he  sat  on  the  veranda  under  the  stars 
smoking  as  he  wondered.  A  puff  of  smoke  curled  from 
the  pipe-bowl.  As  it  cleared  he  was  aware  of  Mowgli 
sitting  with  arms  crossed  on  the  veranda  edge.  A  ghost 
could  not  have  drifted  up  more  noiselessly.  Gisborne 
started  and  let  the  pipe  drop. 

'There  is  no  man  to  talk  to  out  there  in  the  rukh,'  said 
Mowgli.  'I  came  here,  therefore.'  He  picked  up  the 
pipe  and  returned  it  to  Gisborne. 

*  Oh,'  said  Gisborne,  and  after  a  long  pause, '  What  news 
is  there  in  the  rukh?     Hast  thou  found  another  tiger? ' 

'The  nilghaiare  changing  their  feeding-ground  against 
the  new  moon,  as  is  their  custom.  The  pig  are  feeding 
near  the  Kanye  river  now,  because  they  will  not  feed 
with  the  nilghai,  and  one  of  their  sows  has  been  killed  by 
a  leopard  in  the  long  grass  at  the  water-head.  I  do  not 
know  any  more.' 

'And  how  didst  thou  know  all  these  things?'  said  Gis- 
borne, leaning  forward  and  looking  at  the  eyes  that  glit- 
tered in  the  starlight. 

*How  should  I  not  know?  The  nilghai  has  his  cus- 
tom and  his  use,  and  a  child  knows  that  pig  will  not  feed 
with  him.' 

192 


IN  THE  RUKH 

'  I  do  not  know  this,'  said  Gisborne. 

'Tck !  Tck !  And  thou  art  in  charge — so  the  men  of 
the  huts  tell  me— in  charge  of  all  this  rukh? '  He  laughed 
to  himself. 

'  It  is  well  enough  to  talk  and  to  tell  child's  tales,'  Gis- 
borne retorted,  nettled  at  the  chuckle.  'To  say  that 
this  and  that  goes  on  in  the  rukh.  No  man  can  deny 
thee.' 

*As  for  the  sow's  carcase,  I  will  show  thee  her  bones 
to-morrow,'  Mowgli  returned,  absolutely  unmoved. 
'Touching  the  matter  of  the  nilghai,  if  the  Sahib  will  sit 
here  very  still  I  will  drive  one  nilghai  up  to  this  place,  and 
by  listening  to  the  sounds  carefully,  the  Sahib  can  tell 
whence  that  nilghai  has  been  driven.' 

'MowgU,  the  jungle  has  made  thee  mad,'  said  Gis- 
borne.    '  Who  can  drive  nilghai? ' 

'Still— sit  still,  then.     I  go.' 

*Gad,  the  man's  a  ghost!'  said  Gisborne;  for  Mowgli 
had  faded  out  into  the  darkness  and  there  was  no  sound 
of  feet.  The  rukh  lay  out  in  great  velvety  folds  in  the 
uncertain  shimmer  of  the  star-dust — so  still  that  the 
least  little  wandering  wind  among  the  tree-tops  came  up 
as  the  sigh  of  a  child  sleeping  equably.  Abdul  Gafur  in 
the  cook-house  was  clicking  plates  together. 

*Be  still  there!'  shouted  Gisborne,  and  composed  him- 
self to  listen  as  a  man  can  who  is  used  to  the  stillness  of 
the  rukh.  It  had  been  his  custom,  to  preserve  his  self- 
respect  in  his  isolation,  to  dress  for  dinner  each  night, 
and  the  stilT  white  shirt-front  creaked  with  his  regular 
breathing  till  he  shifted  a  little  sideways.  Then  the 
tobacco  of  a  somewhat  foul  pipe  began  to  purr,  and  he 
threw  the  pipe  from  him.  Now,  except  for  the  night- 
breath  in  the  rukh,  everything  was  dumb. 

193 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

From  an  inconceivable  distance,  and  drawled  through 
immeasurable  darkness,  came  the  faint,  faint  echo  of  a 
wolf's  howl.  Then  silence  again  for,  it  seemed,  long 
hours.  At  last,  when  his  legs  below  the  knees  had  lost  all 
feeling,  Gisborne  heard  something  that  might  have  been 
a  crash  far  off  through  the  undergrowth.  He  doubted 
till  it  was  repeated  again  and  yet  again. 

'That's  from  the  west,'  he  muttered;  'there's  some- 
thing on  foot  there.'  The  noise  increased — crash  on 
crash,  plunge  on  plunge — with  the  thick  grunting  of  a 
hotly  pressed  nilghai,  flying  in  panic  terror  and  taking 
no  heed  to  his  course. 

A  shadow  blundered  out  from  between  the  tree-trunks, 
wheeled  back,  turned  again  grunting,  and  with  a  clatter 
on  the  bare  ground  dashed  up  almost  within  reach  of 
his  hand.  It  was  a  bull  nilghai,  dripping  with  dew — his 
withers  hung  with  a  torn  trail  of  creeper,  his  eyes  shining 
in  the  light  from  the  house.  The  creature  checked  at 
sight  of  the  man,  and  fled  along  the  edge  of  the  rukh  till 
he  melted  in  the  darkness.  The  first  idea  in  Gisborne's 
bewildered  mind  was  the  indecency  of  thus  dragging  out 
for  inspection  the  big  blue  bull  of  the  rukh — the  putting 
him  through  his  paces  in  the  night  which  should  have 
been  his  own. 

Then  said  a  smooth  voice  at  his  ear  as  he  stood  staring: 

'He  came  from  the  water-head  where  he  was  leading 
the  herd.  From  the  west  he  came.  Does  the  Sahib 
believe  now,  or  shall  I  bring  up  the  herd  to  be  counted? 
The  Sahib  is  in  charge  of  this  rukh.' 

Mowgli  had  reseated  himself  on  the  veranda,  breath- 
ing a  little  quickly.  Gisborne  looked  at  him  with  open 
mouth.     '  How  was  that  accomplished? '  he  said. 

'The  Sahib  saw.     The  bull  was  driven — driven  as  a 

194 


IN  THE  RUKII 

buffalo  IS.  Ho!  ho!  He  will  have  a  fine  tale  to  tell 
when  he  returns  to  the  herd.' 

'  That  is  a  new  trick  to  me.  Canst  thou  run  as  swiftly 
as  the  nilghai,  then?' 

'  The  Sahib  has  seen .  If  the  Sahib  needs  more  knowl- 
edge at  any  time  of  the  movings  of  the  game,  I,  Mowgli, 
am  here.     This  is  a  good  rukh,  and  I  shall  stay.' 

'Stay  then,  and  if  thou  hast  need  of  a  meal  at  any 
time  my  servants  shall  give  thee  one.' 

'Yes,  indeed,  I  am  fond  of  cooked  food,'  Mowgli  an- 
swered quickly.  'No  man  may  say  that  I  do  not  eat 
boiled  and  roast  as  much  as  any  other  man.  I  will  come 
for  that  meal.  Now,  on  my  part,  I  promise  that  the  Sa- 
hib shall  sleep  safely  in  his  house  by  night,  and  no  thief 
shall  break  in  to  carry  away  his  so  rich  treasures.' 

The  conversation  ended  itself  on  Mowgli's  abrupt  de- 
parture. Gisborne  sat  long  smoking,  and  the  upshot  of 
his  thoughts  was  that  in  Mowgli  he  had  found  at  last 
that  ideal  ranger  and  forest-guard  for  whom  he  and  the 
Department  were  always  looking. 

*I  must  get  him  into  the  Government  service  some- 
how. A  man  who  can  drive  nilghai  would  know  more 
about  the  rukh  than  fifty  men.  He's  a  miracle— a  lusus 
naturae — but  a  forest-guard  he  must  be  if  he'll  only  settle 
down  in  one  place,'  said  Gisborne. 

Abdul  Gafur's  opinion  was  less  favourable.  He  con- 
fided to  Gisborne  at  bedtime  that  strangers  from  God- 
knew-where  were  more  than  likely  to  be  professional 
thieves,  and  that  he  personally  did  not  approve  of  naked 
outcastes  who  had  not  the  proper  manner  of  addressing 
white  people.  Gisborne  laughed  and  bade  him  go  to  his 
quarters,  and  Abdul  Gafur  retreated  growling.  Later 
in  the  night  he  found  occasion  to  rise  up  and  beat  his  thir- 

195 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

teen-year-old  daughter.     Nobody  knew  the  cause  of 
dispute,  but  Gisborne  heard  the  cry. 

Through  the  days  that  followed  Mowgli  came  and 
went  like  a  shadow.  He  had  established  himself  and 
his  wild  housekeeping  close  to  the  bungalow,  but  on  the 
edge  of  the  rukh,  where  Gisborne,  going  out  on  to  the 
veranda  for  a  breath  of  cool  air,  would  see  him  some- 
times sitting  in  the  moonlight,  his  forehead  on  his  knees, 
or  lying  out  along  the  fling  of  a  branch,  closely  pressed 
to  it  as  some  beast  of  the  night.  Thence  Mowgli  would 
throw  him  a  salutation  and  bid  him  sleep  at  ease,  or  de- 
scending would  weave  prodigious  stories  of  the  manners  of 
the  beasts  in  the  rukh.  Once  he  wandered  into  the  stables 
and  was  found  looking  at  the  horses  with  deep  interest. 

'That,'  said  Abdul  Gafur  pointedly,  'is  sure  sign  that 
some  day  he  will  steal  one.  Why,  if  he  lives  about  this 
house,  does  he  not  take  an  honest  employment?  But 
no,  he  must  wander  up  and  down  like  a  loose  camel, 
turning  the  heads  of  fools  and  opening  the  jaws  of  the 
unwise  to  folly.'  So  Abdul  Gafur  would  give  harsh  or- 
ders to  Mowgli  when  they  met,  would  bid  him  fetch 
water  and  pluck  fowls,  and  Mowgli,  laughing  uncon- 
cernedly, would  obey. 

'He  has  no  caste,'  said  Abdul  Gafur.  'He  will  do 
anything.  Look  to  it.  Sahib,  that  he  does  not  do  too 
much.  A  snake  is  a  snake,  and  a  jungle-gipsy  is  a  thief 
till  the  death.' 

'Be  silent,  then,'  said  Gisborne.  ' I  allow  thee  to  cor- 
rect thy  own  household  if  there  is  not  too  much  noise, 
because  I  know  thy  customs  and  use.  My  custom  thou 
dost  not  know.     The  man  is  without  doubt  a  little  mad.' 

'Very  little  mad  indeed,'  said  Abdul  Gafur.  'But  we 
shall  see  what  comes  thereof.' 

196 


IN  THE  RUKH 

A  few  days  later  on  his  business  took  Gisborne  into 
the  rukh  for  three  days.  Abdul  Gafur  being  old  and 
fat  was  left  at  home.  He  did  not  approve  of  lying  up  in 
rangers'  huts,  and  was  inclined  to  levy  contributions  in 
his  master's  name  of  grain  and  oil  and  milk  from  those 
who  could  ill  afford  such  benevolences.  Gisborne  rode 
off  early  one  dawn  a  little  vexed  that  his  man  of  the 
woods  was  not  at  the  veranda  to  accompany  him.  He 
liked  him — liked  his  strength,  fleetness,  and  silence  of 
foot,  and  his  ever-ready  open  smile;  his  ignorance  of  all 
forms  of  ceremony  and  salutations,  and  the  childlike 
tales  that  he  would  tell  (and  Gisborne  would  credit  now) 
of  what  the  game  was  doing  in  the  rukh.  After  an  hour's 
riding  through  the  greenery,  he  heard  a  rustle  behind 
him,  and  Mowgli  trotted  at  his  stirrup. 

'We  have  a  three  days'  work  toward,'  said  Gisborne, 
'among  the  new  trees.' 

'Good,'  said  Mowgli.  'It  is  always  good  to  cherish 
young  trees.  They  make  cover  if  the  beasts  leave  them 
alone.     We  must  shift  the  pig  again.' 

'Again?     How?'  Gisborne  smiled. 

*  Oh,  they  were  rooting  and  tusking  among  the  young 
sal  last  night,  and  I  drove  them  off.  Therefore  I  did 
not  come  to  the  veranda  this  morning.  The  pig  should 
not  be  on  this  side  of  the  rukh  at  all.  We  must  keep 
them  below  the  head  of  the  Kanye  river.' 

*  If  a  man  could  herd  clouds  he  might  do  that  thing ; 
but,  Mowgli,  if,  as  thou  sayest,  thou  art  herder  in  the 
rukh  for  no  gain  and  for  no  pay — ' 

'It  is  the  Sahib's  rukh,'  said  Mowgli,  quickly  looking 
up.  Gisborne  nodded  thanks  and  went  on:  'Would 
it  not  be  better  to  work  for  pay  from  the  Government? 
There  is  a  pension  at  the  end  of  long  service.' 

197 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

'  Of  that  I  have  thought,'  said  Alowgli, '  but  the  rangers 
live  in  huts  with  shut  doors,  and  all  that  is  all  too  much 
a  trap  to  me.     Yet  I  think — ' 

'  Think  well  then  and  tell  me  later.  Here  we  will  stay 
for  breakfast.' 

Gisborne  dismounted,  took  his  morning  meal  from  his 
home-made  saddle-bags,  and  saw  the  day  open  hot  above 
the  rukh.  Mowgli  lay  in  the  grass  at  his  side  staring  up 
to  the  sky. 

Presently  he  said  in  a  lazy  whisper:  'Sahib,  is  there 
any  order  at  the  bungalow  to  take  out  the  white  mare 
to-day?' 

'  No,  she  is  fat  and  old  and  a  little  lame  beside.     Why?' 

'  She  is  being  ridden  now  and  not  slowly  on  the  road 
that  runs  to  the  railway  line.' 

'  Bah,  that  is  two  koss  away.     It  is  a  woodpecker.' 

Mowgli  put  up  his  forearm  to  keep  the  sun  out  of  his 
eyes. 

'The  road  curves  in  with  a  big  curve  from  the  bunga- 
low. It  is  not  more  than  a  koss,  at  the  farthest,  as  the 
kite  goes;  and  sound  flies  with  the  birds.  Shall  we 
see?' 

'  What  folly !  To  run  a  koss  in  this  sun  to  see  a  noise 
in  the  forest.' 

'Nay,  the  pony  is  the  Sahib's  pony.  I  meant  only  to 
bring  her  here.  If  she  is  not  the  Sahib's  pony,  no  matter. 
If  she  is,  the  Sahib  can  do  what  he  wills.  She  is  certainly 
being  ridden  hard.' 

'And  how  wilt  thou  bring  her  here,  madman?* 

'  Has  the  Sahib  forgotten?  By  the  road  of  the  nilghai 
and  no  other.' 

*  Up  then  and  run  if  thou  art  so  full  of  zeal.' 

'Oh,  I  do  not  run!'     He  put  out  his  hand  to  sign  for 

198 


IN  THE  RUKH 

silence,  and  still  lying  on  his  back  called  aloud  thrice — 
with  a  deep  gurgling  cry  that  was  new  to  Gisborne. 

'She  will  come,'  he  said  at  the  end.  *Let  us  wait  in 
the  shade.  The  long  eyelashes  drooped  over  the  wild 
eyes  as  Mowgli  began  to  doze  in  the  morning  hush.  Gis- 
borne waited  patiently:  Mowgli  was  surely  mad,  but  as 
entertaining  a  companion  as  a  lonely  Forest  Officer  could 
desire. 

'  Ho !  ho ! '  said  Mowgli  lazily,  with  shut  eyes.  '  He  has 
dropped  off.  Well,  first  the  mare  will  come  and  then 
the  man.'  Then  he  yawned  as  Gisborne's  pony  stal- 
lion neighed.  Three  minutes  later  Gisborne's  white  mare, 
saddled,  bridled,  but  riderless,  tore  into  the  glade  where 
they  were  sitting,  and  hurried  to  her  companion. 

'She  is  not  very  warm,'  said  Mowgh,  'but  in  this  heat 
the  sweat  comes  easily.  Presently  we  shall  see  her  rider, 
for  a  man  goes  more  slowly  than  a  horse — especially  if 
he  chance  to  be  a  fat  man  and  old.' 

'Allah!  This  is  the  devil's  work,'  cried  Gisborne, 
leaping  to  his  feet,  for  he  heard  a  yell  in  the  jungle. 

'Have  no  care.  Sahib.  He  will  not  be  hurt.  He  also 
will  say  that  it  is  devil's  work.  Ah!  Listen!  Who  is 
that?' 

It  was  the  voice  of  Abdul  Gafur  in  an  agony  of  terror, 
crying  out  upon  unknown  things  to  spare  him  and  his 
gray  hairs. 

'  Nay,  I  cannot  move  another  step,'  he  howled.  '  I  am 
old  and  my  turban  is  lost.  Arre!  Arre!  But  I  will 
move.  Indeed  I  will  hasten.  I  will  run!  Oh,  Devils 
of  the  Pit,  I  am  a  Mussulman ! ' 

The  undergrowth  parted  and  gave  up  Abdul  Gafur, 
turbanless,  shoeless,  with  his  waist-cloth  unbound,  mud 
and  grass  in  his  clutched  hands,  and  his  face  purple.     He 

199 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

saw  Gisborne,  yelled  anew,  and  pitched  forward,  ex- 
hausted and  quivering,  at  his  feet.  Mowgli  watched 
him  with  a  sweet  smile. 

'This  is  no  joke,'  said  Gisborne  sternly.  'The  man  is 
like  to  die,  Mowgli.' 

'He  will  not  die.  He  is  only  afraid.  There  was  no 
need  that  he  should  have  come  out  of  a  walk.' 

Abdul  Gafur  groaned  and  rose  up,  shaking  in  every 
limb. 

'It  was  witchcraft — witchcraft  and  devildom!'  he 
sobbed,  fumbling  with  his  hand  in  his  breast.  '  Because 
of  my  sin  I  have  been  whipped  through  the  woods  by 
devils.  It  is  all  finished.  I  repent.  Take  them.  Sa- 
hib ! '     He  held  out  a  roll  of  dirty  paper. 

'  What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Abdul  Gafur? '  said  Gis- 
borne, already  knowing  what  would  come. 

'  Put  me  in  the  jail-khana — the  notes  are  all  here — but 
lock  me  up  safely  that  no  devils  may  follow.  I  have 
sinned  against  the  Sahib  and  his  salt  which  I  have  eaten ; 
and  but  for  those  accursed  wood-demons,  I  might  have 
bought  land  afar  off  and  lived  in  peace  all  my  days.' 
He  beat  his  head  upon  the  ground  in  an  agony  of  despair 
and  mortification.  Gisborne  turned  the  roll  of  notes 
over  and  over.  It  was  his  accumulated  back-pay  for 
the  last  nine  months — the  roll  that  lay  in  the  drawer 
with  the  home-letters  and  the  recapping-machine.  Mow- 
gli watched  Abdul  Gafur,  laughing  noiselessly  to  him- 
self. *  There  is  no  need  to  put  me  on  the  horse  again.  I 
will  walk  home  slowly  with  the  Sahib,  and  then  he  can 
send  me  under  guard  to  the  jail-khana.  The  Govern- 
ment gives  many  years  for  this  offence,'  said  the  butler 
sullenly. 

Loneliness  in  the  rukh  affects  very  many  ideas  about 

200 


IN  THE  RUKH 

very  many  things.  Gisborne  stared  at  Abdul  Gafur, 
remembering  that  he  was  a  very  good  servant,  and  that 
a  new  butler  must  be  broken  into  the  ways  of  the  house 
from  the  beginning,  and  at  the  best  would  be  a  new  face 
and  a  new  tongue. 

'Listen,  Abdul  Gafur,'  he  said.  'Thou  hast  done 
great  wrong,  and  altogether  lost  thy  izzat  and  thy  repu- 
tation.    But  I  think  that  this  came  upon  thee  suddenly.' 

'Allah!  I  had  never  desired  the  notes  before.  The 
Evil  took  me  by  the  throat  while  I  looked.' 

'That  also  I  can  believe.  Go  then  back  to  my  house, 
and  when  I  return  I  will  send  the  notes  by  a  runner  to 
the  Bank,  and  there  shall  be  no  more  said.  Thou  art  too 
old  for  the  jail-khana.     Also  thy  household  is  guiltless.' 

For  answer  Abdul  Gafur  sobbed  between  Gisborne's 
cowhide  riding-boots. 

'  Is  there  no  dismissal  then? '  he  gulped. 

'That  we  shall  see.  It  hangs  upon  thy  conduct  when 
we  return.     Get  upon  the  mare  and  ride  slowly  back.' 

'  But  the  devils !     The  rukh  is  full  of  devils.' 

'No  matter,  my  father.  They  will  do  thee  no  more 
harm  unless,  indeed,  the  Sahib's  orders  be  not  obeyed,' 
said  Mowgli.  'Then,  perchance,  they  may  drive  thee 
home — by  the  road  of  the  nilghai.' 

Abdul  Gafur's  lower  jaw  dropped  as  he  twisted  up  his 
waist-cloth,  staring  at  Mowgli. 

'  Are  they  his  devils?  His  devils !  And  I  had  thought 
to  return  and  lay  the  blame  upon  this  warlock!' 

'That  was  well  thought  of,  Huzrut;  but  before  we 
make  a  trap  we  see  first  how  big  the  game  is  that  may 
fall  into  it.  Now  I  thought  no  more  than  that  a  man 
had  taken  one  of  the  Sahib's  horses.  I  did  not  know 
that  the  design  was  to  make  me  a  thief  before  the  Sahib, 

201 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

or  my  devils  had  haled  thee  here  by  the  leg.     It  is  not 
too  late  now.' 

Mowgli  looked  inquiringly  at  Gisborne;  but  Abdul 
Gafur  waddled  hastily  to  the  white  mare,  scrambled  on 
he.r  back  and  fled,  the  woodways  crashing  and  echoing 
behind  him. 

'That  was  well  done;  said  Mowgli.  But  he  will  fall 
again  unless  he  holds  by  the  mane.' 

'Now  it  is  time  to  tell  me  what  these  things  mean,' 
said  Gisborne  a  little  sternly.  '  What  is  this  talk  of  thy 
devils?  How  can  men  be  driven  up  and  down  the  rukh 
like  cattle?     Give  answer.' 

'Is  the  Sahib  angry  because  I  have  saved  him  his 
money? ' 

'No,  but  there  is  trick- work  in  this  that  does  not 
please  me.' 

'Very  good.  Now  if  I  rose  and  stepped  three  paces 
into  the  rukh  there  is  no  one,  not  even  the  Sahib,  could 
fmd  me  till  I  choose.  As  I  would  not  willingly  do  this, 
so  I  would  not  willingly  tell.  Have  patience  a  little, 
Sahib,  and  some  day  I  will  show  thee  everything,  for,  if 
thou  wilt,  some  day  we  will  drive  the  buck  together. 
There  is  no  devil-work  in  the  matter  at  all.  Only  .  .  . 
I  know  the  rukh  as  a  man  knows  the  cooking-place  in  his 
house.' 

Mowgli  was  speaking  as  he  would  speak  to  an  impatient 
child.  Gisborne,  puzzled,  baffled,  and  a  great  deal 
annoyed,  said  nothing,  but  stared  on  the  ground  and 
thought.  When  he  looked  up  the  man  of  the  woods  had 
gone. 

*It  is  not  good,'  said  a  level  voice  from  the  thicket, 
*for  friends  to  be  angry.  Wait  till  the  evening,  Sahib, 
when  the  air  cools.' 

202 


IN    IHK  RUKH 

Left  to  himself  thus,  dropped  as  it  were  in  the  heart 
of  the  rukh,  Gisborne  swore,  then  laughed,  remounted 
his  pony,  and  rode  on.  He  visited  a  ranger's  hut,  over- 
looked a  couple  of  new  plantations,  left  some  orders  as 
to  the  burning  of  a  patch  of  dry  grass,  and  set  out  for  a 
camping-ground  of  his  own  choice,  a  pile  of  spHntered 
rocks  roughly  roofed  over  with  branches  and  leaves,  not 
far  from  the  banks  of  the  Kanye  stream.  It  was  twi- 
light when  he  came  in  sight  of  his  resting-place,  and  the 
rukh  was  waking  to  the  hushed  ravenous  life  of  the  night. 

A  camp-fire  flickered  on  the  knoll,  and  there  was  the 
smell  of  a  very  good  dinner  in  the  wind. 

'Um,'  said  Gisborne,  'that's  better  than  cold  meat  at 
any  rate.  Now  the  only  man  who'd  be  likely  to  be 
here'd  be  Muller,  and,  officially,  he  ought  to  be  looking 
over  the  Changamanga  rukh.  I  suppose  that's  why  he's 
on  my  ground.' 

The  gigantic  German  who  was  the  head  of  the  Woods 
and  Forests  of  all  India,  Head  Ranger  from  Burma  to 
Bombay,  had  a  habit  of  flitting  bat-like  without  warn- 
ing from  one  place  to  another,  and  turning  up  exactly 
where  he  was  least  looked  for.  His  theory  was  that 
sudden  visitations,  the  discovery  of  shortcomings  and  a 
word-of-mouth  upbraiding  of  a  subordinate  were  infi- 
nitely better  than  the  slow  processes  of  correspondence, 
which  might  end  in  a  written  and  official  reprimand — a 
thing  in  after  years  to  be  counted  against  a  Forest  Offi- 
cer's record.  As  he  explained  it:  'If  I  only  talk  to  my 
boys  like  a  Dutch  uncle,  dey  say,  "It  was  only  dot 
damned  old  Muller,"  and  dey  do  better  next  dime.  But 
if  my  fat-head  clerk  he  write  and  say  dot  Muller  der 
Inspecdor-General  fail  to  onderstand  and  is  much  an- 
noyed, first  dot  does  no  goot  because  I  am  not  dere, 

203 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

and,  second,  der  fool  dot  comes  after  me  he  may  say  to 
my  best  boys:  "Look  here,  you  haf  been  wigged  by  my 
bredecessor."  I  tell  you  der  big  brass-hat  pizness  does 
not  make  der  trees  grow.' 

Muller's  deep  voice  was  coming  out  of  the  darkness 
behind  the  firelight  as  he  bent  over  the  shoulders  of  his 
pet  cook.  'Not  so  much  sauce,  you  son  of  Belial! 
Worcester  sauce  he  is  a  gondiment  and  not  a  fluid.  Ah, 
Gisborne,  you  haf  come  to  a  very  bad  dinner.  Where 
is  your  camp?'  and  he  walked  up  to  shake  hands. 

'I'm  the  camp,  sir,'  said  Gisborne.  'I  didn't  know 
you  were  about  here.' 

Muller  looked  at  the  young  man's  trim  figure.  *  Goot! 
That  is  very  goot!  One  horse  and  some  cold  things  to 
eat.  When  I  was  young  I  did  my  camp  so.  Now  you 
shall  dine  with  me.  I  went  into  Headquarters  to  make 
up  my  rebort  last  month.  I  haf  written  half — ho!  ho! 
— and  der  rest  I  haf  leaved  to  my  glerks  and  come  out  for 
a  walk.  Der  Government  is  mad  about  dose  reborts. 
I  dold  der  Viceroy  so  at  Simla.' 

Gisborne  chuckled,  remembering  the  many  tales  that 
were  told  of  Muller's  conflicts  with  the  Supreme  Govern- 
ment. He  was  the  chartered  libertine  of  all  the  offices, 
for  as  a  Forest  Officer  he  had  no  equal. 

*  If  I  find  you,  Gisborne,  sitting  in  your  bungalow  und 
hatching  reborts  to  me  about  der  blantations  instead  of 
riding  der  blantations,  I  will  dransfer  you  to  der  middle 
of  der  Bikaneer  Desert  to  reforest  him.  I  am  sick  of 
reborts  und  chewing  paper  when  we  should  do  our  work.' 

'There's  not  much  danger  of  my  wasting  time  over 
my  annuals.     I  hate  them  as  much  as  you  do,  sir.' 

The  talk  went  over  at  this  point  to  professional  mat- 
ters.    Muller  had  some  questions  to  ask,  and  Gisborne 

204 


IN  THE  RUKH 

orders  and  hints  to  receive,  till  dinner  was  ready.  It 
was  the  most  civilised  meal  Gisborne  had  eaten  for 
months.  No  distance  from  the  base  of  supplies  was 
allowed  to  interfere  with  the  work  of  Muller's  cook;  and 
that  table  spread  in  the  wilderness  began  with  devilled 
small  fresh-water  fish,  and  ended  with  coffee  and  cognac. 

'Ah!'  said  Muller  at  the  end,  with  a  sigh  of  satisfac- 
tion as  he  lighted  a  cheroot  and  dropped  into  his  much- 
worn  camp-chair.  'When  I  am  making  reborts  I  am 
Freethinker  und  Atheist,  but  here  in  der  rukh  I  am  more 
than  Christian.  I  am  Bagan  also.'  He  rolled  the 
cheroot-butt  luxuriously  under  his  tongue,  dropped  his 
hands  on  his  knees,  and  stared  before  him  into  the  dim 
shifting  heart  of  the  rukh,  full  of  stealthy  noises:  the 
snapping  of  twigs  like  the  snapping  of  the  fire  behind 
him;  the  sigh  and  rustle  of  a  heat-bended  branch  re- 
covering her  straightness  in  the  cool  night;  the  incessant 
mutter  of  the  Kanye  stream,  and  the  undernote  of  the 
many-peopled  grass  uplands  out  of  sight  beyond  a  swell 
of  hill.  He  blew  out  a  thick  puff  of  smoke,  and  began 
to  quote  Heine  to  himself. 

*  Yes,  it  is  very  goot.  Very  goot.  "Yes,  I  work  mir- 
acles, and,  by  Gott,  dey  come  off  too."  I  remember 
when  dere  was  no  rukh  more  big  than  your  knee,  from 
here  to  der  plough-lands,  und  in  drought-time  der  cattle 
ate  bones  of  dead  cattle  up  and  down.  Now  der  trees 
haf  come  back.  Dey  were  planted  by  a  Freethinker,  be- 
cause he  know  just  de  cause  dot  made  der  effect.  But 
der  trees  dey  had  der  cult  of  der  old  gods— "und  der 
Christian  Gods  howl  loudly."  Dey  could  not  live  in 
der  rukh,  Gisborne.' 

A  shadow  moved  in  one  of  the  bridle-paths — moved 
and  stepped  out  into  the  starlight. 

205 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

'Ihafsaidtrue.  Hush!  Here  is  Faunus  himself  come 
to  see  der  Insbector-General.  Himmel,  he  is  der  god! 
Look!' 

It  was  Mowgli,  crowned  with  his  wreath  of  white 
flowers  and  walking  with  a  half-peeled  branch — Mowgli, 
very  mistrustful  of  the  firelight  and  ready  to  fly  back  to 
the  thicket  on  the  least  alarm. 

'That's  a  friend  of  mine,'  said  Gisborne.  'He's  look- 
ing for  me.     Ohe,  Mowgli ! ' 

Muller  had  barely  time  to  gasp  before  the  man  was  at 
Gisborne's  side,  crying:  'I  was  wrong  to  go.  I  was 
wrong,  but  I  did  not  know  then  that  the  mate  of  him 
that  was  killed  by  this  river  was  awake  looking  for  thee. 
Else  I  should  not  have  gone  away.  She  tracked  thee 
from  the  back-range,  Sahib.' 

'He  is  a  little  mad,'  said  Gisborne,  'and  he  speaks  of 
all  the  beasts  about  here  as  if  he  was  a  friend  of  theirs.' 

'Of  course — of  course.  If  Faunus  does  not  know, 
who  should  know?'  said  Muller  gravely.  'What  does 
he  say  about  tigers — dis  god  who  knows  you  so  well? ' 

Gisborne  relighted  his  cheroot,  and  before  he  had  fin- 
ished the  story  of  Mowgli  and  his  exploits  it  was  burned 
down  to  moustache-edge.  Muller  listened  without  in- 
terruption. 'Dot  is  not  madness,'  he  said  at  last  when 
Gisborne  had  described  the  driving  of  Abdul  Gafur. 
'  Dot  is  not  madness  at  all.' 

'What  is  it,  then?  He  left  me  in  a  temper  this  morn- 
ing because  I  asked  him  to  tell  how  he  did  it.  I  fancy 
the  chap's  possessed  in  some  way.' 

'No,  dere  is  no  bossession,  but  it  is  most  wonderful. 
Normally  they  die  young — dese  beople.  Und  you  say 
now  dot  your  thief-servant  did  not  say  what  drove  der 
poney,  and  of  course  der  nilghai  he  could  not  speak.' 

206 


IN  THE  RUKH 

*No,  but,  confound  it,  there  wasn't  anything.  I  lis- 
tened, and  I  can  hear  most  things.  The  bull  and  the 
man  simply  came  headlong — mad  with  fright.' 

For  answer  Muller  looked  Mowgli  up  and  down  from 
head  to  foot,  then  beckoned  him  nearer.  He  came  as  a 
buck  treads  a  tainted  trail. 

'There  is  no  harm,'  said  Muller  in  the  vernacular. 
'Hold  out  an  arm.' 

He  ran  his  hand  down  to  the  elbow,  felt  that,  and 
nodded.  'So  I  thought.  Now  the  knee.'  Gisborne 
saw  him  feel  the  knee-cap  and  smile.  Two  or  three 
white  scars  just  above  the  ankle  caught  his  eye. 

'Those  came  when  thou  wast  very  young?'  he  said. 

'Ay,'  Mowgli  answered  with  a  smile.  'They  were 
love-tokens  from  the  little  ones.'  Then  to  Gisborne 
over  his  shoulder.  'This  Sahib  knows  everything. 
Who  is  he?' 

'  That  comes  after,  my  friend.  Now  where  are  they? ' 
said  Muller. 

Mowgli  sv/ept  his  hand  round  his  head  in  a  circle. 

'So!  And  thou  canst  drive  nilghai?  See!  There  is 
my  mare  in  her  pickets.  Canst  thou  bring  her  to  me 
without  frightening  her? ' 

'  Can  I  bring  the  mare  to  the  Sahib  without  frighten- 
ing her ! '  Mowgli  repeated,  raising  his  voice  a  little  above 
its  normal  pitch.  'What  is  more  easy  if  the  heel-ropes 
are  loose?' 

'Loosen  the  head  and  heel  pegs,'  shouted  Muller  to 
the  groom.  They  were  hardly  out  of  the  ground  before 
the  mare,  a  huge  black  Australian,  flung  up  her  head 
and  cocked  her  ears. 

*  Careful!  I  do  not  wish  her  driven  into  the  rukh,' 
said  Muller. 

207 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Mowgli  stood  still  fronting  the  blaze  of  the  fire — in 
the  very  form  and  likeness  of  that  Greek  god  who  is  so 
lavishly  described  in  the  novels.  The  mare  whickered, 
drew  up  one  hind  leg,  found  that  the  heel-ropes  were  free, 
and  moved  swiftly  to  her  master,  on  whose  bosom  she 
dropped  her  head,  sweating  lightly. 

'She  came  of  her  own  accord.  My  horses  will  do 
that,'  cried  Gisborne. 

'Feel  if  she  sweats,'  said  Mowgli. 

Gisborne  laid  a  hand  on  the  damp  flank. 

*It  is  enough,'  said  Muller. 

*It  is  enough,'  Mowgli  repeated,  and  a  rock  behind 
him  threw  back  the  word. 

'That's  uncanny,  isn't  it?'  said  Gisborne. 

*No,  only  wonderful — most  wonderful.  Still  you  do 
not  know,  Gisborne? ' 

'I  confess  I  don't.' 

'Well  then,  I  shall  not  tell.  He  says  dot  some  day  he 
will  show  you  what  it  is.  It  would  be  gruel  if  I  told. 
But  why  he  is  not  dead  I  do  not  understand.  Now  listen, 
thou.'  Muller  faced  Mowgli,  and  returned  to  the  ver- 
nacular. '  I  am  the  head  of  all  the  rukhs  in  the  country 
of  India  and  others  across  the  Black  Water.  I  do  not 
know  how  many  men  be  under  me — perhaps  five  thou- 
sand, perhaps  ten.  Thy  business  is  this, — to  wander 
no  more  up  and  down  the  rukh  and  drive  beasts  for  sport 
or  for  show,  but  to  take  service  under  me,  who  am  the 
Government  in  the  matter  of  Woods  and  Forests,  and  to 
live  in  this  rukh  as  a  forest-guard ;  to  drive  the  villagers' 
goats  away  when  there  is  no  order  to  feed  them  in  the 
rukh;  to  admit  them  when  there  is  an  order;  to  keep 
down,  as  thou  canst  keep  down,  the  boar  and  the  nilghai 
when  they  become  too  many;  to  tell  Gisborne  Sahib  how 

208 


IN  THE  RUKH 

and  where  tigers  move,  and  what  game  there  is  in  the 
forests;  and  to  give  sure  warning  of  all  the  fires  in  the 
rukh,  for  thou  canst  give  warning  more  quickly  than 
any  other.  For  that  work  there  is  a  payment  each 
month  in  silver,  and  at  the  end,  when  thou  hast 
gathered  a  wife  and  cattle  and,  may  be,  children,  a 
pension.     What  answer?' 

^That's  just  what  I — '  Gisborne  began. 

*My  Sahib  spoke  this  morning  of  such  a  service.  I 
walked  all  day  alone  considering  the  matter,  and  my 
answer  is  ready  here.  I  serve,  if  I  serve  in  this  rukh  and 
no  other:  with  Gisborne  Sahib  and  with  no  other.' 

*It  shall  be  so.  In  a  week  comes  the  written  order 
that  pledges  the  honour  of  the  Government  for  the  pen- 
sion. After  that  thou  wilt  take  up  thy  hut  where  Gis- 
borne Sahib  shall  appoint.' 

*I  was  going  to  speak  to  you  about  it,'  said  Gisborne. 

*  I  did  not  want  to  be  told  when  I  saw  that  man.  Dere 
will  never  be  a  forest-guard  like  him.  He  is  a  miracle. 
I  tell  you,  Gisborne,  some  day  you  will  find  it  so.  Lis- 
ten, he  is  blood-brother  to  every  beast  in  der  rukh !' 

'  I  should  be  easier  in  my  mind  if  I  could  understand 
him.' 

'Dot  will  come.  Now  I  tell  you  dot  only  once  in  my 
service,  and  dot  is  thirty  years,  haf  I  met  a  boy  dot  be- 
gan as  this  man  began.  Und  he  died.  Sometimes  you 
hear  of  dem  in  der  census  reports,  but  dey  all  die.  Dis 
man  haf  lived,  and  he  is  an  anachronism,  for  he  is  before 
der  Iron  Age,  and  der  Stone  Age.  Look  here,  he  is  at 
der  beginnings  of  der  history  of  man — Adam  in  der  Gar- 
den, und  now  we  want  only  an  Eva !  No !  He  is  older 
than  dot  child-tale,  shust  as  der  rukh  is  older  dan  der 
gods.     Gisborne,  I  am  a  Bagan  now,  once  for  all.' 

209 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Through  the  rest  of  the  long  evening  Muller  sat  smok- 
ing and  smoking,  and  staring  and  staring  into  the  dark- 
ness, his  lips  moving  in  multiplied  quotations,  and  great 
wonder  upon  his  face.  He  went  to  his  tent,  but  pres- 
ently came  out  again  in  his  majestic  pink  sleeping-suit, 
and  the  last  words  that  Gisborne  heard  him  address  to 
the  rukh  through  the  deep  hush  of  midnight  were  these, 
delivered  with  immense  emphasis: — 

'  Dough  we  shivt  und  bedeck  und  bedrape  us, 

Dou  art  noble  und  nude  und  andeek; 
Libidina  dy  moder,  Briapus 
Dy  fader,  a  God  und  a  Greek. 

Now  I  know  dot,  Bagan  or  Christian,  I  shall  nefer  know 
der  inwardness  of  der  rukh ! ' 

It  was  midnight  in  the  bungalow  a  week  later  when 
Abdul  Gafur,  ashy  gray  with  rage,  stood  at  the  foot  of 
Gisborne's  bed  and  whispering  bade  him  awake. 

'Up,  Sahib,'  he  stammered.  'Up  and  bring  thy  gun. 
Mine  honour  is  gone.     Up  and  kill  before  any  see.' 

The  old  man's  face  had  changed,  so  that  Gisborne 
stared  stupidly. 

'  It  was  for  this,  then,  that  that  jungle  outcaste  helped 
me  to  polish  the  Sahib's  table,  and  drew  water  and  plucked 
fowls.  They  have  gone  off  together  for  all  my  beatings, 
and  now  he  sits  among  his  devils  dragging  her  soul  to 
the  Pit.     Up,  Sahib,  and  come  with  me ! ' 

He  thrust  a  rifle  into  Gisborne's  half-wakened  hand 
and  almost  dragged  him  from  the  room  on  to  the 
veranda. 

*They  are  there  in  the  rukh;  even  within  gunshot  of 
the  house.     Come  softly  with  me.' 

210 


IN  thp:  rukh 

'  But  what  is  it?     What  is  the  trouble,  Abdul? ' 

'Mowgli,  and  his  devils.  Also  my  own  daughter,' 
said  Abdul  Gafur.  Gisborne  whistled  and  followed  his 
guide.  Not  for  nothing,  he  knew,  had  Abdul  Gafur 
beaten  his  daughter  of  nights,  and  not  for  nothing  had 
Mowgli  helped  in  the  housework  a  man  whom  his  own 
powers,  whatever  those  were,  had  convicted  of  theft. 
Also,  a  forest  wooing  goes  quickly. 

There  was  the  breathing  of  a  flute  in  the  rukh,  as  it 
might  have  been  the  song  of  some  wandering  wood-god, 
and,  as  they  came  nearer,  a  murmur  of  voices.  The 
path  ended  in  a  little  semicircular  glade  walled  partly 
by  high  grass  and  partly  by  trees.  In  the  centre,  upon 
a  fallen  trunk,  his  back  to  the  w^atchers  and  his  arm 
round  the  neck  of  Abdul  Gafur's  daughter,  sat  Mowgli, 
newly  crowned  with  flowers,  playing  upon  a  rude  bam- 
boo flute,  to  whose  music  four  huge  wolves  danced 
solemnly  on  their  hind  legs. 

'Those  are  his  devils,'  Abdul  Gafur  whispered.  He 
held  a  bunch  of  cartridges  in  his  hand.  The  beasts 
dropped  to  a  long-drawn  quavering  note  and  lay  still 
with  steady  green  eyes,  glaring  at  the  girl. 

'Behold,'  said  MowgH,  laying  aside  the  flute.  'Is 
there  anything  of  fear  in  that?  I  told  thee,  little  Stout- 
heart,  that  there  was  not,  and  thou  didst  believe.  Thy 
father  said — and  oh,  if  thou  couldst  have  seen  thy  father 
being  driven  by  the  road  of  the  nilghai! — thy  father  said 
that  they  were  devils;  and  by  Allah,  who  is  thy  God,  I 
do  not  wonder  that  he  so  believed.' 

The  girl  laughed  a  little  rippling  laugh,  and  Gisborne 
heard  Abdul  grind  his  few  remaining  teeth.  This  was 
not  at  all  the  girl  that  Gisborne  had  seen  with  a  half-eye 
slinking  about  the  compound  veiled  and  silent,  but  an- 

211 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

other — a  woman  full  blown  in  a  night  as  the  orchid  puts 
out  in  an  hour's  moist  heat. 

'But  they  are  my  playmates  and  my  brothers,  chil- 
dren of  that  mother  that  gave  me  suck,  as  I  told  thee 
behind  the  cook-house,'  Mowgli  went  on.  'Children  of 
the  father  that  lay  between  me  and  the  cold  at  the  mouth 
of  the  cave  when  I  was  a  little  naked  child.  Look' — a 
wolf  raised  his  gray  jowl,  slavering  at  Mowgli' s  knee — 
*my  brother  knows  that  I  speak  of  them.  Yes,  when  I 
was  a  little  child  he  was  a  cub  rolling  with  me  on  the 
clay.' 

'But  thou  hast  said  that  thou  art  human-born,'  cooed 
the  girl,  nestling  closer  to  the  shoulder.  'Thou  art 
human-born?' 

*Said!  Nay,  I  know  that  I  am  human-born,  because 
my  heart  is  in  thy  hold,  little  one.'  Her  head  dropped 
under  Mowgli's  chin.  Gisborne  put  up  a  warning  hand 
to  restrain  Abdul  Gafur,  who  was  not  in  the  least  im- 
pressed by  the  wonder  of  the  sight. 

'But  I  was  a  wolf  among  wolves  none  the  less  till  a 
time  came  when  Those  of  the  jungle  bade  me  go  because 
I  was  a  man.' 

'Who  bade  thee  go?  That  is  not  like  a  true  man's 
talk.' 

'  The  very  beasts  themselves.  Little  one,  thou  wouldst 
never  believe  that  telling,  but  so  it  was.  The  beasts  of 
the  jungle  bade  me  go,  but  these  four  followed  me  be- 
cause I  was  their  brother.  Then  was  I  a  herder  of  cattle 
among  men,  having  learned  their  language.  Ho!  ho! 
The  herds  paid  toll  to  my  brothers,  till  a  woman,  an  old 
woman,  beloved,  saw  me  playing  by  night  with  my 
brethren  in  the  crops.  They  said  that  I  was  possessed 
of  devils,  and  drove  me  from  that  village  with  sticks  and 

212 


IN  THE  RUKH 

stones,  and  the  four  came  with  me  by  stealth  and  not 
openly.  That  was  when  I  had  learned  to  eat  cooked 
meat  and  to  talk  boldly.  From  village  to  village  I  went, 
heart  of  my  heart,  a  herder  of  cattle,  a  tender  of  buffaloes, 
a  tracker  of  game,  but  there  was  no  man  that  dared  lift 
a  fmger  against  me  twice.'  He  stooped  down  and  patted 
one  of  the  heads.  'Do  thou  also  like  this.  There  is 
neither  hurt  nor  magic  in  them.     See,  they  know  thee.' 

'The  woods  are  full  of  all  manner  of  devils,'  said  the 
girl  with  a  shudder. 

'A  lie.  A  child's  lie,'  Mowgli  returned  confidently. 
*I  have  lain  out  in  the  dew  under  the  stars  and  in  the 
dark  night,  and  I  know.  The  jungle  is  my  house. 
Shall  a  man  fear  his  own  roof-beams  or  a  woman  her 
man's  hearth?     Stoop  down  and  pat  them.' 

'They  are  dogs  and  unclean,'  she  murmured,  bending 
forward  with  averted  head. 

'  Having  eaten  the  fruit,  now  we  remember  the  Law ! ' 
said  Abdul  Gafur  bitterly.  'What  is  the  need  of  this 
waiting.  Sahib?     Kill!' 

*H'sh,  thou.  Let  us  learn  what  has  happened,'  said 
Gisborne. 

'That  is  well  done,'  said  Mowgli,  slipping  his  arm 
round  the  girl  again.  '  Dogs  or  no  dogs,  they  were  with 
me  through  a  thousand  villages.' 

*Ahi,  and  where  was  thy  heart  then?  Through  a 
thousand  villages.  Thou  hast  seen  a  thousand  maids. 
I — that  am — that  am  a  maid  no  more,  have  I  thy  heart?' 

'What  shall  I  swear  by?  By  Allah,  of  whom  thou 
speakest?' 

'Nay,  by  the  life  that  is  in  thee,  and  I  am  well  content. 
Where  was  thy  heart  in  those  days?* 

Mowgli  laughed  a  little.     *  In  my  belly,  because  I  was 

213 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

young  and  always  hungry.  So  I  learned  to  track  and  to 
hunt,  sending  and  calling  my  brothers  back  and  forth  as 
a  king  calls  his  armies.  Therefore  I  drove  the  nilghai 
for  the  foolish  young  Sahib,  and  the  big  fat  mare  for  the 
big  fat  Sahib,  when  they  questioned  my  power.  It  were 
as  easy  to  have  driven  the  men  themselves.  Even  now,' 
his  voice  lifted  a  little — 'even  now  I  know^  that  behind 
me  stand  thy  father  and  Gisborne  Sahib.  Nay,  do  not 
run,  for  no  ten  men  dare  move  a  paceforw^ard.  Remem- 
bering that  thy  father  beat  thee  more  than  once,  shall  I 
give  the  word  and  drive  him  again  in  rings  through  the 
rukh? '     A  wolf  stood  up  with  bared  teeth. 

Gisborne  felt  Abdul  Gafur  tremble  at  his  side.  Next, 
his  place  was  empty,  and  the  fat  man  was  skimming 
down  the  glade. 

'Remains  only  Gisborne  Sahib,'  said  MowgH,  still 
without  turning;  'but  I  have  eaten  Gisborne  Sahib's 
bread,  and  presently  I  shall  be  in  his  service,  and  my 
brothers  will  be  his  servants  to  drive  game  and  carry  the 
news.     Hide  thou  in  the  grass.' 

The  girl  fled,  the  tall  grass  closed  behind  her  and  the 
guardian  wolf  that  followed,  and  Mowgli  turning  with 
his  three  retainers  faced  Gisborne  as  the  Forest  OfTicer 
came  forward. 

'That  is  all  the  magic,'  he  said,  pointing  to  the  three. 
*  The  fat  Sahib  knew  that  we  who  are  bred  among  wolves 
run  on  our  elbows  and  our  knees  for  a  season.  Feeling 
my  arms  and  legs,  he  felt  the  truth  which  thou  didst  not 
know.     Is  it  so  wonderful,  Sahib? ' 

*  Indeed  it  is  all  more  wonderful  than  magic.  These 
then  drove  the  nilghai? ' 

*Ay,  as  they  would  drive  Eblis  if  I  gave  the  order. 
They  are  my  eyes  and  feet  to  me.' 

214 


IN  THE  RUKH 

'Look  to  it,  then,  that  Ebhs  does  not  carry  a  double 
rifle.  They  have  yet  something  to  learn,  thy  devils,  for 
they  stand  one  behind  the  other,  so  that  two  shots  would 
kill  the  three.' 

'Ah,  but  they  know  they  will  be  thy  servants  as  soon 
as  I  am  a  forest-guard.' 

'  Guard  or  no  guard,  Mowgli,  thou  hast  done  a  great 
shame  to  Abdul  Gafur.  Thou  hast  dishonoured  his  house 
and  blackened  his  face.' 

'  For  that,  it  was  blackened  when  he  took  thy  money, 
and  made  blacker  still  when  he  whispered  in  thy  ear  a 
little  while  since  to  kill  a  naked  man.  I  myself  will  talk 
to  Abdul  Gafur,  for  I  am  a  man  of  the  Government  ser- 
vice, with  a  pension.  He  shall  make  the  marriage  by 
whatsoever  rite  he  will,  or  he  shall  run  once  more.  I 
will  speak  to  him  in  the  dawn.  For  the  rest,  the  Sahib 
has  his  house  and  this  is  mine.  It  is  time  to  sleep  again. 
Sahib.' 

Mowgli  turned  on  his  heel  and  disappeared  into  the 
grass,  leaving  Gisborne  alone.  The  hint  of  the  wood- 
god  was  not  to  be  mistaken;  and  Gisborne  went  back  to 
the  bungalow,  where  Abdul  Gafur,  torn  by  rage  and  fear, 
was  raving  in  the  veranda. 

'Peace,  peace,'  said  Gisborne,  shaking  him,  for  he 
looked  as  though  he  were  going  to  have  a  fit.  '  MuUer 
Sahib  has  made  the  man  a  forest-guard,  and  as  thou 
knowest  there  is  a  pension  at  the  end  of  that  business, 
and  it  is  Government  service.' 

'He  is  an  outcaste — a  mlech — a  dog  among  dogs;  an 
eater  of  carrion !     What  pension  can  pay  for  that? ' 

*  Allah  knows;  and  thou  hast  heard  that  the  mischief  is 
done.  Wouldst  thou  blaze  it  to  all  the  other  servants? 
Make  the  shadi  swiftly,  and  the  girl  will  make  him  a 

215: 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Mussulman.  He  is  very  comely.  Canst  thou  wonder 
that  after  thy  beatings  she  went  to  him? ' 

'Did  he  say  that  he  would  chase  me  with  his  beasts?' 

'  So  it  seemed  to  me.  If  he  be  a  wizard,  he  is  at  least 
a  very  strong  one.' 

Abdul  Gafur  thought  awhile,  and  then  broke  down 
and  howled,  forgetting  that  he  was  a  Mussulman : — 

'Thou  art  a  Brahmin.  I  am  thy  cow.  Make  thou 
the  matter  plain,  and  save  my  honour  if  it  can  be  saved!' 

A  second  time  then  Gisborne  plunged  into  the  rukh 
and  called  Mowgli.  The  answer  came  from  high  over- 
head, and  in  no  submissive  tones. 

*  Speak  softly,'  said  Gisborne,  looking  up.  'There  is 
yet  time  to  strip  thee  of  thy  place  and  hunt  thee  with 
thy  wolves.  The  girl  must  go  back  to  her  father's  house 
to-night.  To-morrow  there  will  be  the  shadi,  by  the 
Mussulman  law,  and  then  thou  canst  take  her  away. 
Bring  her  to  Abdul  Gafur.' 

'  I  hear.*  There  was  a  murmur  of  two  voices  confer- 
ring among  the  leaves.  *Also,  we  will  obey — for  the 
last  time.' 

A  year  later  Muller  and  Gisborne  were  riding  through 
the  rukh  together,  talking  of  their  business.  They  came 
out  among  the  rocks  near  the  Kanye  stream;  Muller 
riding  a  little  in  advance.  Under  the  shade  of  a  thorn 
thicket  sprawled  a  naked  brown  baby,  and  from  the 
brake  immediately  behind  him  peered  the  head  of  a  gray 
wolf.  Gisborne  had  just  time  to  strike  up  MuUer's  rifle, 
and  the  bullet  tore  spattering  through  the  branches  above. 

*  Are  you  mad? '  thundered  Muller.     *  Look ! ' 

'I  see,'  said  Gisborne  quietly.  'The  mother's  some- 
where near.    You'll  wake  the  whole  pack,  by  Jove  I ' 

216 


IN  THE  RUKH 

The  bushes  parted  once  more,  and  a  woman  unveiled 
snatched  up  the  child. 

'Who  fired,  Sahib?'  she  cried  to  Gisborne. 

'This  Sahib.  He  had  not  remembered  thy  man's 
people.' 

'Not  remembered?  But  indeed  it  may  be  so,  for  we 
who  live  with  them  forget  that  they  are  strangers  at  all. 
Mowgli  is  down  the  stream  catching  fish.  Does  the 
Sahib  wish  to  see  him?  Come  out,  ye  lacking  manners. 
Come  out  of  the  bushes,  and  make  your  service  to  the 
Sahibs.' 

MuUer's  eyes  grew  rounder  and  rounder.  He  swung 
himself  off  the  plunging  mare  and  dismounted,  while  the 
jungle  gave  up  four  wolves  that  fawned  round  Gisborne. 
The  mother  stood  nursing  her  child  and  spurning  them 
aside  as  they  brushed  against  her  bare  feet. 

'You  were  quite  right  about  Mowgli,'  said  Gisborne. 
'I  meant  to  have  told  you,  but  I've  got  so  used  to  these 
fellows  in  the  last  twelvemonths  that  it  slipped  my  mind.' 

'Oh,  don't  apologise,'  said  Muller.  'It's  nothing. 
Gott  in  Himmel!  "Und  I  work  miracles — und  dey 
come  off  too!"  ' 


217 


'BRUGGLESMITH' 

(1891) 

This  day  the  ship  went  down,  and  all  hands  was 
drowned  but  me. — Clark  Russell. 

THE  first  officer  of  the  'Breslau'  asked  me  to 
dinner  on  board,  before  the  ship  went  round  to 
Southampton  to  pick  up  her  passengers.  The 
*Breslau'  was  lying  below  London  Bridge,  her  fore- 
hatches  opened  for  cargo,  and  her  deck  littered  with  nuts 
and  bolts,  and  screws  and  chains.  The  Black  M'Phee 
had  been  putting  some  finishing  touches  to  his  adored 
engines,  and  M'Phee  is  the  most  tidy  of  chief  engineers. 
If  the  leg  of  a  cockroach  gets  into  one  of  his  slide-valves 
the  whole  ship  knows  it,  and  half  the  ship  has  to  clean 
up  the  mess. 

After  dinner,  which  the  first  officer,  M'Phee,  and  I 
ate  in  one  little  corner  of  the  empty  saloon,  M'Phee  re- 
turned to  the  engine-room  to  attend  to  some  brass- 
fitters.  The  first  officer  and  I  smoked  on  the  bridge  and 
watched  the  lights  of  the  crowded  shipping  till  it  was 
time  for  me  to  go  home.  It  seemed,  in  the  pauses  of  our 
conversation,  that  I  could  catch  an  echo  of  fearful  bel- 
lowings  from  the  engine-room,  and  the  voice  of  M'Phee 
singing  of  home  and  the  domestic  affections. 

*  M'Phee  has  a  friend  aboard  to-night — a  man  who 
was  a  boiler-maker  at  Greenock  when  M'Phee  was  a 

?18 


'BRUGGLESMITH' 

'prentice,'  said  the  first  officer.     'I  didn't  ask  him  to 
dine  with  us  because — ' 

'I  see — I  mean,  I  hear,'  I  answered.  We  talked  on 
for  a  few  minutes  longer,  and  M'Phee  came  up  from  the 
engine-room  with  his  frijend  on  his  arm. 

'Let  me  present  ye  to  this  gentleman,'  said  M'Phee. 
'He's  a  great  admirer  o'  your  wor-rks.  He  has  just 
hearrd  o'  them.' 

M'Phee  could  never  pay  a  comphment  prettily.  The 
friend  sat  down  suddenly  on  a  bollard,  saying  that 
M'Phee  had  understated  the  truth.  Personally,  he 
considered  that  Shakespeare  was  trembling  in  the  bal- 
ance solely  on  my  account,  and  if  the  first  officer  wished 
to  dispute  this  he  was  prepared  to  fight  the  first  officer 
then  or  later,  'as  per  invoice.'  'Man,  if  ye  only  knew,' 
said  he,  wagging  his  head,  'the  times  I've  lain  in  my 
lonely  bunk  reading  "Vanity  Fair"  an'  sobbin' — ay, 
weepin'  bitterly  at  the  pure  fascination  of  it.' 

He  shed  a  few  tears  for  guarantee  of  good  faith,  and 
the  first  officer  laughed.  M'Phee  resettled  the  man's 
hat,  that  had  tilted  over  one  eyebrow. 

'That'll  wear  off  in  a  little.  It's  just  the  smell  o'  the 
engine-room,'  said  M'Phee. 

'I  think  I'll  wear  off  myself,'  I  whispered  to  the  first 
officer.     I  s  the  dinghy  ready? ' 

The  dinghy  was  at  the  gangway,  which  was  down,  and 
the  first  officer  went  forward  to  find  a  man  to  row  me  to 
the  bank.  He  returned  with  a  very  sleepy  Lascar,  who 
knew  the  river. 

*  Are  you  going? '  said  the  man  on  the  bollard.  *  Well, 
I'll  just  see  ye  home.  M'Phee,  help  me  down  the  gang- 
way. It  has  as  many  ends  as  a  cat-o'-nine-tails,  and — 
losh! — how  innumerable  are  the  dinghies!' 

219 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

'You'd  better  let  him  come  with  you,'  said  the  first 
officer.  '  Muhammad  Jan,  put  the  drunk  sahib  ashore 
first.     Take  the  sober  sahib  to  the  next  stairs.' 

I  had  my  foot  in  the  bow  of  the  dinghy,  the  tide  was 
making  up-stream,  when  the  man  cannoned  against  me, 
pushed  the  Lascar  back  on  the  gangway,  cast  loose  the 
painter,  and  the  dinghy  began  to  saw,  stern-first,  along 
the  side  of  the  'Breslau.' 

'We'll  have  no  exter-r-raneous  races  here,'  said  the 
man.     '  I've  known  the  Thames  for  thirty  years — ' 

There  was  no  time  for  argument.  We  were  drifting 
under  the  '  Breslau's'  stern,  and  I  knew  that  her  propeller 
was  half  out  of  water,  in  the  middle  of  an  inky  tangle  of 
buoys,  low-lying  hawsers,  and  moored  ships,  with  the 
tide  ripping  through  them. 

'  What  shall  I  do? '  I  shouted  to  the  first  officer. 

'  Find  the  Police  Boat  as  soon  as  you  can,  and  for  God's 
sake  get  some  way  on  the  dinghy.  Steer  with  the  oar. 
The  rudder's  unshipped  and — ' 

I  could  hear  no  more.  The  dinghy  slid  away,  bumped 
on  a  mooring-buoy,  swung  round  and  jigged  off  irrespon- 
sibly as  I  hunted  for  the  oar.  The  man  sat  in  the  bow, 
his  chin  on  his  hands,  smiling. 

'Row,  you  ruffian,'  I  said.  'Get  her  out  into  the 
middle  of  the  river — ' 

'It's  a  preevilege  to  gaze  on  the  face  o'  genius.  Let 
me  go  on  thinking.  There  was  "Little  Bar-rnaby 
Dorrit"  and  "The  Mystery  o'  the  Bleak  Druid."  I 
sailed  in  a  ship  called  the  "Druid"  once — badly  found 
she  was.  It  all  comes  back  to  me  so  sweet.  It  all 
comes  back  to  me.     Man,  ye  steer  like  a  genius.' 

We  bumped  round  another  mooring-buoy  and  drifted 
on  to  the  bows  of  a  Norwegian  timber-ship — I  could  see 

220 


'BRUGGLESMITH' 

the  great  square  holes  on  either  side  of  the  cut-water. 
Then  we  dived  into  a  string  of  barges  and  scraped  through 
them  by  the  paint  on  our  planks.  It  was  a  consolation 
to  think  that  the  dinghy  was  being  reduced  in  value  at 
every  bump,  but  the  question  before  me  was  when  she 
would  begin  to  leak.  The  man  looked  ahead  into  the 
pitchy  darkness  and  whistled. 

'  Yon's  a  Castle  liner;  her  ties  are  black.  She's  swing- 
ing across  stream.  Keep  her  port  light  on  our  starboard 
bow,  and  go  large,'  he  said. 

'How  can  I  keep  anything  anywhere?  You're  sit- 
ting on  the  oars.  Row,  man,  if  you  don't  want  to 
drown.' 

He  took  the  sculls,  saying  sweetly:  'No  harm  comes 
to  a  drucken  man.  That's  why  I  wished  to  come  wi' 
you.     Man,  ye're  not  fit  to  be  alone  in  a  boat.' 

He  flirted  the  dinghy  round  the  big  ship,  and  for  the 
next  ten  minutes  I  enjoyed — positively  enjoyed — an 
exhibition  of  first-class  steering.  We  threaded  in  and 
out  of  the  mercantile  marine  of  Great  Britain  as  a  ferret 
threads  a  rabbit-hole,  and  we,  he  that  is  to  say,  sang 
joyously  to  each  ship  till  men  looked  over  bulwarks  and 
cursed  us.  When  we  came  to  some  moderately  clear 
water  he  gave  the  sculls  to  me,  and  said : 

'If  ye  could  row  as  ye  write,  I'd  respect  you  for  all 
your  vices.     Yon's  London  Bridge.     Take  her  through.' 

We  shot  under  the  dark  ringing  arch,  and  came  out 
the  other  side,  going  up  swiftly  with  the  tide,  chanting 
songs  of  victory.  Except  that  I  wished  to  get  home  be- 
fore morning,  I  was  growing  reconciled  to  the  jaunt. 
There  were  one  or  two  stars  visible,  and  by  keeping  into 
the  centre  of  the  stream,  we  could  not  come  to  any  very 
serious  danger. 

221 


MANY  INVENTIONS 
The  man  began  to  sing  loudly: — 

'The  smartest  cHpper  that  you  could  find, 

Yoho!     Oho! 
Was  the  "  Marg'ret  Evans"  of  the  Black  X  Line, 

A  hundred  years  ago! 

Incorporate  that  in  your  next  book,  which  is  marvellous.' 
Here  he  stood  up  in  the  bows  and  declaimed : — 

'Ye  Towers  o'  Julia,  London's  lasting  wrong, 
By  mony  a  foul  an'  midnight  murder  fed — 
Sweet  Thames  run  softly  till  I  end  my  song — 
And  yon's  the  grave  as  little  as  my  bed. 

I'm  a  poet  mysel'  an'  I  can  feel  for  others.' 

'  Sit  down,'  said  I.     '  You'll  have  the  boat  over.' 
'Ay,  I'm  settin' — settin'  like  a  hen.'     He  plumped 

down  heavily,  and  added,  shaking  his  forefinger  at  me : — 

'  Lear-rn,  prudent,  cautious  self-control 
Is  wisdom's  root. 

How  did  a  man  o'  your  parts  come  to  be  so  drunk?  Oh, 
it's  a  sinfu'  thing,  an'  ye  may  thank  God  on  all  fours 
that  I'm  with  you.     What's  yon  boat? ' 

We  had  drifted  far  up  the  river,  and  a  boat  manned 
by  four  men,  who  rowed  with  a  soothingly  regular  stroke, 
was  overhauling  us. 

*  It's  the  River  Police,'  I  said  at  the  top  of  my  voice. 
*0h  ay!     If  your  sin  do  not  find  you  out  on  dry  land, 

it  will  find  you  out  in  the  deep  waters.  Is  it  like  they'll 
give  us  drink? ' 

*  Exceedingly  likely .     I'll  hail  them.'     I  hailed. 

*  What  are  you  doing? '  was  the  answer  from  the  boat. 

222 


'BRUGGLESMITH' 

'It's  the  "Breslau's"  dinghy  broken  loose,'  I  began. 

'It's  a  vara  drunken  man  broke  loose,'  roared  my 
companion,  'and  I'm  taking  him  home  by  water,  for  he 
cannot  stand  on  dry  land.'  Here  he  shouted  my  name 
twenty  times  running,  and  I  could  feel  the  blushes  rac- 
ing over  my  body  three  deep. 

'You'll  be  locked  up  in  ten  minutes,  my  friend,'  I  said, 
'and  I  don't  think  you'll  be  bailed  either.' 

'H'sh,  man,  h'sh.  They  think  I'm  your  uncle.'  He 
caught  up  a  scull  and  began  splashing  the  boat  as  it 
ranged  alongside. 

'You're  a  nice  pair,'  said  the  sergeant  at  last. 

'I  am  anything  you  please  so  long  as  you  take  this 
fiend  away.  Tow  us  in  to  the  nearest  station,  and  I'll 
make  it  worth  your  while,'  I  said. 

'Corruption — corruption,'  roared  the  man,  throwing 
himself  flat  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  '  Like  unto  the 
worms  that  perish,  so  is  man!  And  all  for  the  sake  of  a 
filthy  half-crown  to  be  arrested  by  the  river  police  at  my 
time  o'  life!' 

'For  pity's  sake,  row,'  I  shouted.    'The  man's  drunk.' 

They  rowed  us  to  a  flat — a  fire  or  a  police  station ;  it 
was  too  dark  to  see  which.  I  could  feel  that  they  regarded 
me  in  no  better  light  than  the  other  man.  I  could  not 
explain,  for  I  was  holding  the  far  end  of  the  painter,  and 
feeling  cut  off  from  all  respectability. 

We  got  out  of  the  boat,  my  companion  falling  flat  on 
his  wicked  face,  and  the  sergeant  asked  us  rude  ques- 
tions about  the  dinghy.  My  companion  washed  his 
hands  of  all  responsibility.  He  was  an  old  man;  he  had 
been  lured  into  a  stolen  boat  by  a  young  man — prob- 
ably a  thief — he  had  saved  the  boat  from  wreck  (this  was 
absolutely  true),  and  now  he  expected  salvage  in  the 

223 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

shape  of  hot  whisky  and  water.  The  sergeant  turned 
to  me.  Fortunately,  I  was  in  evening  dress,  and  had  a 
card  to  show.  More  fortunately  still,  the  sergeant  hap- 
pened to  know  the  'Breslau'  and  M'Phee.  He  prom- 
ised to  send  the  dinghy  down  next  tide,  and  was  not 
beyond  accepting  my  thanks,  in  silver. 

As  this  was  satisfactorily  arranged,  I  heard  my  com- 
panion say  angrily  to  a  constable, '  If  you  will  na  give  it  to 
a  dry  man,  ye  maun  to  a  drookit.'  Then  he  walked  de- 
liberately off  the  edge  of  the  flat  into  the  water.  Somebody 
stuck  a  boat-hook  into  his  clothes  and  hauled  him  out. 

'Now,'  said  he  triumphantly,  'under  the  rules  o'  the 
R-royal  Humane  Society,  ye  must  give  me  hot  whisky 
and  water.  Do  not  put  temptation  before  the  laddie. 
He's  my  nephew  an'  a  good  boy  i'  the  main.  Tho'  why 
he  should  masquerade  as  Mister  Thackeray  on  the  high 
seas  is  beyond  my  comprehension.  Oh  the  vanity  o' 
youth!  M'Phee  told  me  ye  were  as  vain  as  a  peacock. 
I  mind  that  now.' 

'You  had  better  give  him  something  to  drink  and 
wrap  him  up  for  the  night.  I  don't  know  who  he  is,'  I 
said  desperately,  and  when  the  man  had  settled  down  to 
a  drink  supplied  on  my  representations,  I  escaped  and 
found  that  I  was  near  a  bridge. 

I  went  towards  Fleet  Street,  intending  to  take  a  han- 
som and  go  home.  After  the  first  feeling  of  indignation 
died  out,  the  absurdity  of  the  experience  struck  me  fully 
and  I  began  to  laugh  aloud  in  the  empty  streets,  to  the 
scandal  of  a  policeman.  The  more  I  reflected  the  more 
heartily  I  laughed,  till  my  mirth  was  quenched  by  a 
hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  turning  I  saw  him  who  should 
have  been  in  bed  at  the  river  police-station.  He  was 
damp  all  over;  his  wet  silk  hat  rode  far  at  the  back  of 

224 


'BRUGGLESMITH' 

his  head,  and  round  his  shoulders  hung  a  striped  yellow 
blanket,  evidently  the  property  of  the  State. 

'  The  crackling  o'  thorns  under  a  pot,'  said  he,  solemnly. 
'Laddie,  have  ye  not  thought  o'  the  sin  of  idle  laughter? 
My  heart  misgave  me  that  ever  ye'd  get  home,  an'  I've 
just  come  to  convoy  you  a  piece.  They're  sore  unedu- 
cate  down  there  by  the  river.  They  wouldna  listen  to 
me  when  I  talked  o'  your  worrks,  so  I  e'en  left  them. 
Cast  the  blanket  about  you,  laddie.     It's  fine  and  cold.' 

I  groaned  inwardly.  Providence  evidently  intended 
that  I  should  frolic  through  eternity  with  M'Phee's  in- 
famous acquaintance. 

'Go  away,'  I  said;  'go  home,  or  I'll  give  you  in  charge!' 

He  leaned  against  a  lamp-post  and  laid  his  finger  to 
his  nose — his  dishonourable,  carnelian  neb. 

'  I  mind  now  that  M'Phee  told  me  ye  were  vainer  than 
a  peacock,  an'  your  castin'  me  adrift  in  a  boat  shows  ye 
were  drunker  than  an  owl.  A  good  name  is  as  a  savoury 
bakemeat.     I  ha'  nane.'     He  smacked  his  lips  joyously. 

'Well,  I  know  that,' I  said. 

'Ay,  but  ye  have.  I  mind  now  that  M'Phee  spoke  o' 
your  reputation  that  you're  so  proud  of.  Laddie,  if  ye 
gie  me  in  charge — I'm  old  enough  to  be  your  father — I'll 
bla-ast  your  reputation  as  far  as  my  voice  can  carry;  for 
I'll  call  you  by  name  till  the  cows  come  hame.  It's  no 
jestin'  matter  to  be  a  friend  to  me.  If  you  discard  my 
friendship,  ye  must  come  to  Vine  Street  wi'  me  for  steal- 
in'  the  "Breslau's"  dinghy.' 

Then  he  sang  at  the  top  of  his  voice : — 

'  In  the  morrnin' 
r  the  morrnin'  by  the  black  van — 
We'll  toodle  up  to  Vine  Street  i'  the  morrnin' ! 

225 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Yon's  my  own  composeetion,  but  I'm  not  vain.  We'll 
go  home  together,  laddie,  we'll  go  home  together.'  And 
he  sang  '  Auld  Lang  Syne'  to  show  that  he  meant  it. 

A  policeman  suggested  that  we  had  better  move  on, 
and  we  moved  on  to  the  Law  Courts  near  St.  Clement 
Danes.  My  companion  w^as  quieter  now,  and  his  speech, 
which  up  till  that  time  had  been  distinct — it  was  a  marvel 
to  hear  how  in  his  condition  he  could  talk  dialect — began 
to  slur  and  slide  and  slummock.  He  bade  me  observe  the 
architecture  of  the  Law  Courts  and  linked  himself  lov- 
ingly to  my  arm.  Then  he  saw  a  policeman,  and  before 
I  could  shake  him  off,  whirled  me  up  to  the  man  singing : — 

'  Every  member  of  the  Force 

Has  a  watch  and  chain  of  course — ' 

and  threw  his  dripping  blanket  over  the  helmet  of  the 
Law.  In  any  other  country  in  the  world  we  should  have 
run  an  exceedingly  good  chance  of  being  shot,  or  dirked, 
or  clubbed — and  clubbing  is  worse  than  being  shot.  But 
I  reflected  in  that  wet-cloth  tangle  that  this  was  England, 
where  the  police  are  made  to  be  banged  and  battered 
and  bruised,  that  they  may  the  better  endure  a  police- 
court  reprimand  next  morning.  We  three  fell  in  a  fes- 
toon, he  calling  on  me  by  name — that  was  the  tingling 
horror  of  it — to  sit  on  the  policeman's  head  and  cut  the 
traces.  I  wriggled  clear  first  and  shouted  to  the  police- 
man to  kill  the  blanket-man. 

Naturally  the  policeman  answered:  'You're  as  bad  as 
'im,'  and  chased  me,  as  the  smaller  man,  round  St. 
Clement  Danes  into  Holywell  Street,  where  I  ran  into 
the  arms  of  another  policeman.  That  flight  could  not 
have  lasted  more  than  a  minute  and  a  half,  but  it  seemed 

226 


'BRUGGLESMITH' 

to  me  as  long  and  as  wearisome  as  the  foot-bound  flight 
of  a  nightmare.  I  had  leisure  to  think  of  a  thousand 
things  as  I  ran;  but  most  I  thought  of  the  great  and  god- 
like man  who  held  a  sitting  in  the  north  gallery  of  St. 
Clement  Danes  a  hundred  odd  years  ago.  I  know  that 
he  at  least  would  have  felt  for  me.  So  occupied  was  I 
with  these  considerations,  that  when  the  other  police- 
man hugged  me  to  his  bosom  and  said :  '  What  are  you 
tryin'  to  do?'  I  answered  with  exquisite  pohteness:  'Sir, 
let  us  take  a  walk  down  Fleet  Street.'  'Bow  Street'U 
do  your  business,  I  think,'  was  the  answer,  and  for  a 
moment  I  thought  so  too,  till  it  seemed  I  might  scuffle 
out  of  it.  Then  there  was  a  hideous  scene,  and  it  was 
complicated  by  my  companion  hurrying  up  with  the 
blanket  and  telling  me — always  by  name — that  he  would 
rescue  me  or  perish  in  the  attempt. 

'Knock  him  down,'  I  pleaded.  'Club  his  head  open 
first  and  I'll  explain  afterwards.' 

The  first  policeman,  the  one  who  had  been  outraged, 
drew  his  truncheon  and  cut  at  my  companion's  head. 
The  high  silk  hat  crackled  and  the  owner  dropped  like  a 
log. 

'Now  you've  done  it,'  I  said.  'You've  probably 
killed  him.' 

Holywell  Street  never  goes  to  bed.  A  small  crowd 
gathered  on  the  spot  and  some  one  of  German  extrac- 
tion shrieked:  'You  haf  killed  the  man.' 

Another  cried:  'Take  his  bloomin'  number.  I  saw 
him  strook  cruel 'ard.     Yah!' 

Now  the  street  was  empty  when  the  trouble  began, 
and,  saving  the  two  policemen  and  myself,  no  one  had 
seen  the  blow.  I  said,  therefore,  in  a  loud  and  cheerful 
voice : — 

227 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

*  The  man's  a  friend  of  mine.  He's  fallen  down  in  a  fit. 
Bobby,  will  you  bring  the  ambulance?'  Under  my 
breath  I  added :  '  It's  five  shillings  apiece,  and  the  man 
didn't  hit  you.' 

'No,  but  'im  and  you  tried  to  scrob  me,'  said  the  po- 
liceman. 

This  was  not  a  thing  to  argue  about. 

' Is  Dempsey  on  duty  at  Charing  Cross?'  I  said. 

'Wot  d'you  know  of  Dempsey,  you  bloomin'  garrot- 
ter?' said  the  policeman. 

'If  Dempsey's  there,  he  knows  me.  Get  the  am- 
bulance quick,  and  I'll  take  him  to  Charing  Cross.' 

'You're  coming  to  Bow  Street,  you  are,'  said  the  po- 
liceman crisply. 

'The  man's  dying' — he  lay  groaning  on  the  pavement 
— 'get  the  ambulance,'  said  I. 

There  is  an  ambulance  at  the  back  of  St.  Clement 
Danes,  whereof  I  know  more  than  most  people.  The 
policeman  seemed  to  possess  the  keys  of  the  box  in  which 
it  lived.  We  trundled  it  out — it  was  a  three-wheeled 
affair  with  a  hood — and  we  bundled  the  body  of  the  man 
upon  it. 

A  body  in  an  ambulance  looks  very  extremely  dead. 
The  policemen  softened  at  the  sight  of  the  stiff  boot- 
heels. 

'Now  then,'  said  they,  and  I  fancied  that  they  still 
meant  Bow  Street. 

'  Let  me  see  Dempsey  for  three  minutes  if  he*s  on  duty,' 
I  answered. 

'Very  good.     He  is.' 

Then  I  knew  that  all  would  be  well,  but  before  we 
started  I  put  my  head  under  the  ambulance-hood  to  see  if 
the  man  were  alive.     A  guarded  whisper  came  to  my  ear. 

228 


'BRUGGLESMITH' 

*  Laddie,  you  maun  pay  me  for  a  new  hat.  They've 
broken  it.  Dinna  desert  me  now,  laddie.  I'm  o'er  old 
to  go  to  Bow  Street  in  my  gray  hairs  for  a  fault  of  yours. 
Laddie,  dinna  desert  me.' 

'You'll  be  lucky  if  you  get  off  under  seven  years,'  I 
said  to  the  policeman. 

Moved  by  a  very  lively  fear  of  having  exceeded  their 
duty,  the  two  policemen  left  their  beats,  and  the  mourn- 
ful procession  wound  down  the  empty  Strand.  Once 
west  of  the  Adelphi,  I  knew  I  should  be  in  my  own  coun- 
try; and  the  policemen  had  reason  to  know  that  too,  for 
as  I  was  pacing  proudly  a  little  ahead  of  the  catafalque, 
another  policeman  said  'Good-night,  sir,'  to  me  as  he 
passed. 

'Now,  you  see,'  I  said,  with  condescension, '  I  wouldn't 
be  in  your  shoes  for  something.  On  my  word,  I've  a 
great  mind  to  march  you  two  down  to  Scotland  Yard.' 

'If  the  gentleman's  a  friend  o'  yours,  per'aps — 'said 
the  policeman  who  had  given  the  blow,  and  was  reflect- 
ing on  the  consequences. 

'Perhaps  you'd  like  me  to  go  away  and  say  nothing 
about  it,'  I  said.  Then  there  hove  into  view  the  figure 
of  Constable  Dempsey,  glittering  in  his  oil-skins,  and  an 
angel  of  light  to  me.  I  had  known  him  for  months;  he 
was  an  esteemed  friend  of  mine,  and  we  used  to  talk  to- 
gether in  the  early  mornings.  The  fool  seeks  to  ingra- 
tiate himself  with  Princes  and  Ministers;  and  courts  and 
cabinets  leave  him  to  perish  miserably.  The  wise  man 
makes  allies  among  the  police  and  the  hansoms,  so  that 
his  friends  spring  up  from  the  round-house  and  the  cab- 
rank,  and  even  his  offences  become  triumphal  proces- 
sions. 

*  Dempsey,'  said  I,  'have  the  police  been  on  strike 

229 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

again?  They've  put  some  things  on  duty  at  St.  Clement 
Danes  that  want  to  take  me  to  Bow  Street  for  garrot- 
ting.' 

'Lor,  sir!'  said  Dempsey  indignantly. 

'Tell  them  I'm  not  a  garrotter,  nor  a  thief.  It's  sim- 
ply disgraceful  that  a  gentleman  can't  walk  down  the 
Strand  without  being  man-handled  by  these  roughs. 
One  of  them  has  done  his  best  to  kill  my  friend  here;  and 
I'm  taking  the  body  home.     Speak  for  me,  Dempsey.' 

There  was  no  time  for  the  much-misrepresented  po- 
licemen to  say  a  word.  Dempsey  spoke  to  them  in  lan- 
guage calculated  to  frighten.  They  tried  to  explain, 
but  Dempsey  launched  into  a  glowing  catalogue  of  my 
virtues,  as  noted  by  gas  in  the  early  hours.  'And,'  he 
concluded  vehemently,  '  'e  writes  for  the  papers,  too. 
How'd  you  like  to  be  written  about  in  the  papers — in 
verse,  too,  which  is  'is  'abit.  You  leave  'im  alone. 
'Im  an'  me  have  been  friends  for  months.' 

'What  about  the  dead  man?'  said  the  policeman  who 
had  not  given  the  blow. 

'I'll  tell  you,'  I  said  relenting,  and  to  the  three  police- 
men under  the  lights  of  Charing  Cross  assembled,  I  re- 
counted faithfully  and  at  length  the  adventures  of  the 
night,  beginning  with  the  'Breslau'  and  ending  at  St. 
Clement  Danes.  I  described  the  sinful  old  ruffian  in  the 
ambulance  in  words  that  made  him  wriggle  where  he  lay, 
and  never  since  the  Metropolitan  Police  was  founded 
did  three  policemen  laugh  as  those  three  laughed.  The 
Strand  echoed  to  it,  and  the  unclean  birds  of  the  night 
stood  and  wondered. 

*0h  lor'!'  said  Dempsey,  wiping  his  eyes,  'I'd  ha' 
given  anything  to  see  that  old  man  runnin'  about  with  a 
wet  blanket  an'  all !    Excuse  me,  sir,  but  you  ought  to 

230 


•BHUGGLESMnir 

get  took  up  every  night  for  to  make  us  'appy.'  He  dis- 
solved into  fresh  guffaws. 

There  was  a  chnking  of  silver  and  the  two  policemen 
of  St.  Clement  Danes  hurried  back  to  their  beats,  laugh- 
ing as  they  ran. 

'Take  'im  to  Charing  Cross,'  said  Dempsey  between 
shouts.  'They'll  send  the  ambulance  back  in  the  morn- 
ing.' 

'Laddie,  ye've  misca'ed  me  shameful  names,  but  I'm 
o'er  old  to  go  to  a  hospital.  Dinna  desert  me,  laddie. 
Tak  me  home  to  my  wife,'  said  the  voice  in  the  ambu- 
lance. 

'He's  none  so  bad.  'Is  wife'll  comb  'is  hair  for  'im 
proper,'  said  Dempsey,  who  was  a  married  man. 

'Where  d'you  live?'  I  demanded. 

'Brugglesmith,'  was  the  answer. 

'What's  that?'  I  said  to  Dempsey,  more  skilled  than 
I  in  portmanteau-words. 

'Brook  Green,  'Ammersmith,'  Dempsey  translated 
promptly. 

'Of  course,'  I  said.  'That's  just  the  sort  of  place  he 
would  choose  to  live  in.  I  only  wonder  that  it  was  not 
Kew.' 

'Are  you  going  to  wheel  him  'ome,  sir,'  said  Dempsey. 

'  I'd  wheel  him  home  if  he  lived  in — Paradise.  He's 
not  going  to  get  out  of  this  ambulance  while  I'm  here. 
He'd  drag  me  into  a  murder  for  tuppence.' 

'Then  strap  'im  up  an'  make  sure,'  said  Dempsey, 
and  he  deftly  buckled  two  straps  that  hung  by  the  side 
of  the  ambulance  over  the  man's  body.  Brugglesmith 
— I  know  not  his  other  name — was  sleeping  deeply.  He 
even  smiled  in  his  sleep. 

'That's  all  right,'  said  Dempsey,  and  I  moved  off, 

231 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

wheeling  my  devil's  perambulator  before  me.  Trafal- 
gar Square  was  empty  except  for  the  few  that  slept  in 
the  open.  One  of  these  wretches  ranged  alongside  and 
begged  for  money,  asserting  that  he  had  been  a  gentle- 
man once. 

'So  have  I,'  I  said.  'That  was  long  ago.  I'll  give 
you  a  shilling  if  you'll  help  me  to  push  this  thing.' 

'Is  it  a  murder?'  said  the  vagabond,  shrinking  back. 
'  I've  not  got  to  that  yet.' 

'No,  it's  going  to  be  one,'  I  answered.     '  I  have.' 

The  man  slunk  back  into  the  darkness  and  I  pressed 
on,  through  Cockspur  Street,  and  up  to  Piccadilly  Circus, 
wondering  what  I  should  do  with  my  treasure.  All 
London  was  asleep,  and  I  had  only  this  drunken  carcase 
to  bear  me  company.  It  was  silent — silent  as  chaste 
Piccadilly.  A  young  man  of  my  acquaintance  came 
out  of  a  pink  brick  club  as  I  passed.  A  faded  carnation 
drooped  from  his  button-hole;  he  had  been  playing 
cards,  and  was  walking  home  before  the  dawn,  when  he 
overtook  me. 

'What  are  you  doing?'  he  said. 

I  was  far  beyond  any  feeling  of  shame.  'It's  for  a 
bet,'  said  I.     '  Come  and  help.' 

'Laddie,  who's  yon?'  said  the  voice  beneath  the  hood. 

'Good  Lord!'  said  the  young  man,  leaping  across  the 
pavement.  Perhaps  card-losses  had  told  on  his  nerves. 
Mine  were  steel  that  night. 

'The  Lord,  The  Lord?'  the  passionless,  incurious  voice 
went  on.  '  Dinna  be  profane,  laddie.  He'll  come  in  His 
ain  good  time.' 

The  young  man  looked  at  me  with  horror. 

'It's  all  part  of  the  bet,'  I  answered.  'Do  come  and 
push!' 

232 


*BRUGGLESMITH' 

*W — where  are  you  going  to?'  said  he. 

*Brugglesmith,'  said  the  voice  within.  'Laddie,  d'ye 
ken  my  wife? ' 

'No,' said  I. 

'Well,  she's  just  a  tremenjus  wumman.  Laddie,  I 
want  a  drink.  Knock  at  one  o'  those  braw  houses,  lad- 
die, an' — an' — ye  may  kiss  the  girrl  for  your  pains.' 

'Lie  still,  or  I'll  gag  you,'  I  said,  savagely. 

The  young  man  with  the  carnation  crossed  to  the 
other  side  of  Piccadilly,  and  hailed  the  only  hansom  visi- 
ble for  miles.     What  he  thought  I  cannot  tell. 

I  pressed  on — wheeling,  eternally  wheeling — to  Brook 
Green,  Hammersmith.  There  I  would  abandon  Brug- 
glesmith  to  the  gods  of  that  desolate  land.  We  had 
been  through  so  much  together  that  I  could  not  leave 
him  bound  in  the  street.  Besides,  he  would  call  after 
me,  and  oh!  it  is  a  shameful  thing  to  hear  one's  name 
ringing  down  the  emptiness  of  London  in  the  dawn. 

So  I  went  on,  past  Apsley  House,  even  to  the  cof- 
fee-stall, but  there  was  no  coffee  for  Brugglesmith. 
And  into  Knightsbridge — respectable  Knightsbridge — I 
wheeled  my  burden,  the  body  of  Brugglesmith. 

'Laddie,  what  are  ye  going  to  do  wi'  me?'  he  said 
when  opposite  the  barracks. 

'Kill  you,'  I  said  briefly,  'or  hand  you  over  to  your 
wife.     Be  quiet.' 

He  would  not  obey.  He  talked  incessantly — sliding 
in  one  sentence  from  clear-cut  dialect  to  wild  and  drunken 
jumble.  At  the  Albert  Hall  he  said  that  I  was  the 
'Hattle  Gardle  buggle,'  which  I  apprehend  is  the  Hatton 
Garden  burglar.  At  Kensington  High  Street  he  loved 
me  as  a  son,  but  when  my  weary  legs  came  to  the  Addi- 
son Road  Bridge  he  implored  me  with  tears  to  unloose 

233 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

the  straps  and  to  fight  against  the  sin  of  vanity.  No 
man  molested  us.  It  was  as  though  a  bar  had  been  set 
between  myself  and  all  humanity  till  I  had  cleared  my 
account  with  Brugglesmith.  The  glimmering  of  light 
grew  in  the  sky;  the  cloudy  brown  of  the  wood  pavement 
turned  to  heather-purple;  I  made  no  doubt  that  I  should 
be  allowed  vengeance  on  Brugglesmith  ere  the  evening. 

At  Hammersmith  the  heavens  were  steel-gray,  and 
the  day  came  weeping.  All  the  tides  of  the  sadness  of 
an  unprofitable  dawning  poured  into  the  soul  of  Bruggle- 
smith. He  wept  bitterly,  because  the  puddles  looked 
cold  and  houseless.  I  entered  a  half-waked  public- 
house — in  evening  dress  and  an  ulster,  I  marched  to  the 
bar — and  got  him  whisky  on  condition  that  he  should 
cease  kicking  at  the  canvas  of  the  ambulance.  Then  he 
wept  more  bitterly,  for  that  he  had  ever  been  associated 
with  me,  and  so  seduced  into  stealing  the  'Breslau's' 
dinghy. 

The  day  was  white  and  wan  when  I  reached  my  long 
journey's  end,  and,  putting  back  the  hood,  bade  Brug- 
glesmith declare  where  he  lived.  His  eyes  wandered  dis- 
consolately round  the  red  and  gray  houses  till  they  fell  on 
a  villa  in  whose  garden  stood  a  staggering  board  with  the 
legend  'To  Let.'  It  needed  only  this  to  break  him  down 
utterly,  and  with  the  breakage  fled  his  fine  fluency  in  his 
guttural  northern  tongue;  for  liquor  levels  all. 

'Olely  HI  while,'  he  sobbed.  'Olely  lil  while.  Home 
— falmy — besht  of  falmies — wife  too — ^you  dole  know 
my  wife!  Left  them  all  a  lil  while  ago.  Now  eT'ery- 
thmg's  sold — all  sold.  Wife — falmy — all  sold.  Lem- 
megellup ! ' 

I  unbuckled  the  straps  cautiously.  Brugglesmith 
rolled  off  his  resting-place  and  staggered  to  the  house. 

234 


'BRUGGLESiMITH' 

'Wattle  I  do?' he  said. 

Then  I  understood  the  baser  depths  in  the  mind  of 
Mephistopheles. 

'Ring,'  I  said;  'perhaps  they  are  in  the  attic  or  the 
cellar.' 

'You  do'  know  my  wife.  She  shleeps  on  soful  in  the 
dorlin'  room,  waiting  meculhome.  You  do'  know  my 
wife.' 

He  took  off  his  boots,  covered  them  with  his  tall  hat, 
and  craftily  as  a  Red  Indian  picked  his  way  up  the  gar- 
den path  and  smote  the  bell  marked  'Visitors'  a  severe 
blow  with  the  clenched  fist. 

'Bell  sole  too.  Sole  electick  bell!  Wassor  bell  this? 
I  can't  riggle  bell,'  he  moaned  despairingly. 

'You  pull  it — pull  it  hard,'  I  repeated,  keeping  a  wary 
eye  down  the  road.  Vengeance  was  coming  and  I  de- 
sired no  witnesses. 

'Yes,  I'll  pull  it  hard.'  He  slapped  his  forehead  with 
inspiration.     '  I'll  put  it  out.' 

Leaning  back  he  grasped  the  knob  with  both  hands 
and  pulled.  A  wild  ringing  in  the  kitchen  was  his  an- 
swer. Spitting  on  his  hands  he  pulled  with  renewed 
strength,  and  shouted  for  his  wife.  Then  he  bent  his 
ear  to  the  knob,  shook  his  head,  drew  out  an  enormous 
yellow  and  red  handkerchief,  tied  it  round  the  knob, 
turned  his  back  to  the  door,  and  pulled  over  his  shoulder. 

Either  the  handkerchief  or  the  wire,  it  seemed  to  me, 
was  bound  to  give  way.  But  I  had  forgotten  the  bell. 
Something  cracked  in  the  kitchen,  and  Brugglesmith 
moved  slowly  down  the  doorsteps,  pulling  valiantly. 
Three  feet  of  wire  followed  him. 

*  Pull,  oh  pull ! '  I  cried.     '  It's  coming  now.' 

'  Qui'  ri','  he  said.     '  I'll  riggle  bell.' 

235 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

He  bowed  forward,  the  wire  creaking  and  straining 
behind  him,  the  bell-knob  clasped  to  his  bosom,  and 
from  the  noises  within  I  fancied  the  bell  was  taking  away 
with  it  half  the  woodwork  of  the  kitchen  and  all  the 
basement  banisters. 

'Get  a  purchase  on  her,'  I  shouted,  and  he  spun  round, 
lapping  that  good  copper  wire  about  him.  I  opened  the 
garden  gate  politely,  and  he  passed  out,  spinning  his  own 
cocoon.  Still  the  bell  came  up,  hand  over  hand,  and 
still  the  wire  held  fast.  He  was  in  the  middle  of  the  road, 
now,  whirling  like  an  impaled  cockchafer,  and  shouting 
madly  for  his  wife  and  family.  There  he  met  with  the 
ambulance,  the  bell  within  the  house  gave  one  last  peal, 
and  bounded  from  the  far  end  of  the  hall  to  the  inner 
side  of  the  hall-door,  where  it  stayed  fast.  So  did  not 
my  friend  Brugglesmith.  He  fell  upon  his  face,  em- 
bracing the  ambulance  as  he  did  so,  and  the  two  turned 
over  together  in  the  toils  of  the  never-sufTiciently-to-be- 
advertised  copper  wire. 

'Laddie,'  he  gasped,  his  speech  returning,  'have  I  a 
legal  remedy? ' 

*I  will  go  and  look  for  one,'  I  said,  and,  departing, 
found  two  policemen.  These  I  told  that  daylight  had 
surprised  a  burglar  in  Brook  Green  while  he  was  engaged 
in  stealing  lead  from  an  empty  house.  Perhaps  they 
had  better  take  care  of  that  bootless  thief.  He  seemed 
to  be  in  difficulties. 

I  led  the  way  to  the  spot,  and  behold !  in  the  splen- 
dour of  the  dawning,  the  ambulance,  wheels  uppermost, 
was  walking  down  the  muddy  road  on  two  stockinged 
feet — was  shuffling  to  and  fro  in  a  quarter  of  a  circle 
whose  radius  was  copper  wire,  and  whose  centre  was  the 
bell-plate  of  the  empty  house. 

236 


'BRUGGLESMITH' 

Next  to  the  amazing  ingenuity  with  which  Bruggle- 
smith  had  contrived  to  lash  himself  underthe  ambulance, 
the  thing  that  appeared  to  impress  the  constables  most 
was  the  fact  of  the  St.  Clement  Danes  ambulance  being 
at  Brook  Green,  Hammersmith. 

They  even  asked  me,  of  all  people  in  the  world, 
whether  I  knew  anything  about  it! 

They  extricated  him;  not  without  pain  and  dirt.  He 
explained  that  he  was  repelling  boarding-attacks  by  a 
'Hattle  Gardle  buggle'  who  had  sold  his  house,  wife,  and 
family.  As  to  the  bell-wire,  he  offered  no  explanation, 
and  was  borne  off  shoulder-high  between  the  two  police- 
men. Though  his  feet  were  not  within  six  inches  of  the 
ground,  they  paddled  swiftly,  and  I  saw  that  in  his 
magnificent  mind  he  was  running — furiously  running. 

Sometimes  I  have  wondered  whether  he  wished  to 
find  me. 


237 


'LOVE-0 '-WOMEN' 

(1893) 

'A  lamentable  tale  of  things 
Done  long  ago,  and  ill  done.' 

THE  horror,  the  confusion,  and  the  separation  of 
the  murderer  from  his  comrades  were  all  over  be- 
fore I  came.  There  remained  only  on  the  bar- 
rack-square the  blood  of  man  calling  from  the  ground. 
The  hot  sun  had  dried  it  to  a  dusky  goldbeater-skin  film, 
cracked  lozenge-wise  by  the  heat;  and  as  the  wind  rose, 
each  lozenge,  rising  a  little,  curled  up  at  the  edges  as  if  it 
were  a  dumb  tongue.  Then  a  heavier  gust  blew  all 
away  down  wind  in  grains  of  dark-coloured  dust.  It 
was  too  hot  to  stand  in  the  sunshine  before  breakfast. 
The  men  were  in  barracks  talking  the  matter  over.  A 
knot  of  soldiers'  wives  stood  by  one  of  the  entrances  to 
the  married  quarters,  while  inside  a  woman  shrieked 
and  raved  with  wicked  filthy  words. 

A  quiet  and  well-conducted  sergeant  had  shot  down, 
in  broad  daylight  just  after  early  parade,  one  of  his  own 
corporals,  had  then  returned  to  barracks  and  sat  on  a 
cot  till  the  guard  came  for  him.  He  Would,  therefore,  in 
due  time  be  handed  over  to  the  High  Court  for  trial. 
Further,  but  this  he  could  hardly  have  considered  in  his 
scheme  of  revenge,  he  would  horribly  upset  my  work; 

238 


'LOVE-0 '-WOMEN' 

for  Ihc  reporting  of  that  trial  would  fall  on  me  without  a 
relief.  What  that  trial  would  be  like  I  knew  even  to 
weariness.  There  would  be  the  rifle  carefully  uncleaned, 
with  the  fouling  marks  about  breech  and  muzzle,  to  be 
sworn  to  by  half  a  dozen  superfluous  privates;  there 
would  be  heat,  reeking  heat,  till  the  wet  pencil  slipped 
sideways  between  the  fingers;  and  the  punkah  would 
swish  and  the  pleaders  would  jabber  in  the  verandas,  and 
his  Commanding  Officer  would  put  in  certificates  to  the 
prisoner's  moral  character,  while  the  jury  would  pant 
and  the  summer  uniforms  of  the  witnesses  would  smell 
of  dye  and  soaps;  and  some  abject  barrack-sweeper 
would  lose  his  head  in  cross-examination,  and  the  young 
barrister  who  always  defended  soldiers'  cases  for  the 
credit  that  they  never  brought  him,  would  say  and  do 
wonderful  things,  and  would  then  quarrel  with  me  be- 
cause I  had  not  reported  him  correctly.  At  the  last,  for 
he  surely  would  not  be  hanged,  I  might  meet  the  pris- 
oner again,  ruling  blank  account-forms  in  the  Central 
Jail,  and  cheer  him  with  the  hope  of  his  being  made  a 
warder  in  the  Andamans. 

The  Indian  Penal  Code  and  its  interpreters  do  not 
treat  murder,  under  any  provocation  whatever,  in  a 
spirit  of  jest.  Sergeant  Raines  would  be  very  lucky 
indeed  if  he  got  off  with  seven  years,  I  thought.  He 
had  slept  the  night  upon  his  wrongs,  and  killed  his  man 
at  twenty  yards  before  any  talk  was  possible.  That 
much  I  knew.  Unless,  therefore,  the  case  was  doctored 
a  little,  seven  years  would  be  his  least;  and  I  fancied  it 
was  exceedingly  well  for  Sergeant  Raines  that  he  had 
been  liked  by  his  Company. 

That  same  evening — no  day  is  so  long  as  the  day  of  a 
murder — I  met  Ortheris  with  the  dogs,  and  he  plunged 

239 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

defiantly  into  the  middle  of  the  matter.  'I'll  be  one  o' 
the  witnesses,'  said  he.  'I  was  in  the  veranda  when 
Mackie  come  along.  'E  come  from  Mrs.  Raines's  quar- 
ters. Quigley,  Parsons,  an'  Trot,  they  was  in  the  inside 
veranda,  so  they  couldn't  'ave  'card  nothing.  Sergeant 
Raines  was  in  the  veranda  talkin'  to  me,  an'  Mackie  'e 
come  along  acrost  the  square  an'  'e  sez,  "Well,"  sez  'e, 
'"ave  they  pushed  your  'elmet  off  yet.  Sergeant?"  'e 
sez.  An'  at  that  Raines  'e  catches  'is  breath  an'  'e  sez, 
"My  Gawd,  I  can't  stand  this!"  sez  'e,  an'  'e  picks  up 
my  rifle  an'  shoots  Mackie.     See? ' 

'But  what  were  you  doing  with  your  rifle  in  the  outer 
veranda  an  hour  after  parade?' 

'Cleanin'  'er,'  said  Ortheris,  with  the  sullen  brassy 
stare  that  always  went  with  his  choicer  lies. 

He  might  as  well  have  said  that  he  was  dancing  naked, 
for  at  no  time  did  his  rifle  need  hand  or  rag  on  her  twenty 
minutes  after  parade.  Still,  the  High  Court  would  not 
know  his  routine. 

*Are  you  going  to  stick  to  that — on  the  Book?'  I 
asked. 

'Yes.     Like  a  bloomin' leech.' 

'All  right,  I  don't  want  to  know  any  more.  Only  re- 
member that  Quigley,  Parsons,  and  Trot  couldn't  have 
been  where  you  say  without  hearing  something;  and 
there's  nearly  certain  to  be  a  barrack-sweeper  who  was 
knocking  about  the  square  at  the  time.  There  always 
is.' 

'  'Twasn't  the  sweeper.  It  was  the  beastie.  'E's 
all  right.' 

Then  I  knew  that  there  was  going  to  be  some  spirited 
doctoring,  and  I  felt  sorry  for  the  Government  Advo- 
cate who  would  conduct  the  prosecution. 

240 


'LOVE-0 '-WOMEN' 

When  the  trial  came  on  I  pitied  him  more,  for  he  was 
always  quick  to  lose  his  temper  and  made  a  personal 
matter  of  each  lost  cause.  Raines's  young  barrister  had 
for  once  put  aside  his  unslaked  and  welling  passion  for 
alibis  and  insanity,  had  forsworn  gymnastics  and  fire- 
works, and  worked  soberly  for  his  client.  Mercifully 
the  hot  weather  was  yet  young,  and  there  had  been  no 
flagrant  cases  of  barrack-shootings  up  to  the  time;  and 
the  jury  was  a  good  one,  even  for  an  Indian  jury,  where 
nine  men  out  of  every  twelve  are  accustomed  to  weigh- 
ing evidence.  Ortheris  stood  firm  and  was  not  shaken 
by  any  cross-examination.  The  one  weak  point  in  his 
tale — the  presence  of  his  rifle  in  the  outer  veranda — 
went  unchallenged  by  civilian  wisdom,  though  some  of 
the  witnesses  could  not  help  smiling.  The  Government 
Advocate  called  for  the  rope,  contending  throughout 
that  the  murder  had  been  a  deliberate  one.  Time  had 
passed,  he  argued,  for  that  reflection  which  comes  so 
naturally  to  a  man  whose  honour  is  lost.  There  was 
also  the  Law,  ever  ready  and  anxious  to  right  the  wrongs 
of  the  common  soldier  if,  indeed,  wrong  had  been  done. 
But  he  doubted  much  whether  there  had  been  any  suffi- 
cient wrong.  Causeless  suspicion  over-long  brooded 
upon  had  led,  by  his  theory,  to  deliberate  crime.  But 
his  attempts  to  minimise  the  motive  failed.  The  most 
disconnected  witness  knew — had  known  for  weeks — the 
causes  of  offence;  and  the  prisoner,  who  naturally  was 
the  last  of  all  to  know,  groaned  in  the  dock  while  he  lis- 
tened. The  one  question  that  the  trial  circled  round 
was  whether  Raines  had  fired  under  sudden  and  blind- 
ing provocation  given  that  very  morning;  and  in  the 
summing-up  it  was  clear  that  Ortheris's  evidence  told. 
He  had  contrived  most  artistically  to  suggest  that  he 

241 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

personally  hated  the  Sergeant,  who  had  come  into  the 
veranda  to  give  him  a  talking  to  for  insubordination. 
In  a  weak  moment  the  Government  Advocate  asked  one 
question  too  many.  'Beggin'  your  pardon,  sir,'  Or- 
theris  replied,  '  'e  was  callin'  me  a  dam'  impudent  little 
lawyer.'  The  Court  shook.  The  jury  brought  it  in  a 
killing,  but  with  every  provocation  and  extenuation 
known  to  God  or  man,  and  the  Judge  put  his  hand  to  his 
brow  before  giving  sentence,  and  the  Adam's  apple  in 
the  prisoner's  throat  went  up  and  down  like  mercury 
pumping  before  a  cyclone. 

In  consideration  of  all  considerations,  from  his  Com- 
manding Officer's  certificate  of  good  conduct  to  the  sure 
loss  of  pension,  service,  and  honour,  the  prisoner  would 
get  two  years,  to  be  served  in  India,  and — there  need  be 
no  demonstration  in  Court.  The  Government  Advocate 
scowled  and  picked  up  his  papers;  the  guard  wheeled 
with  a  clash,  and  the  prisoner  was  relaxed  to  the  Secular 
Arm,  and  driven  to  the  jail  in  a  broken-down  ticca- 
gharri. 

His  guard  and  some  ten  or  twelve  military  witnesses, 
being  less  important,  were  ordered  to  wait  till  what  was 
officially  called  the  cool  of  the  evening  before  marching 
back  to  cantonments.  They  gathered  together  in  one 
of  the  deep  red-brick  verandas  of  a  disused  lock-up  and 
congratulated  Ortheris,  who  bore  his  honours  modestly. 
I  sent  my  work  into  the  office  and  joined  them.  Ortheris 
watched  the  Government  Advocate  driving  off  to  lunch. 

*  That's  a  nasty  little  bald-'eaded  little  butcher,  that 
is,*  he  said.  *  'E  don't  please  me.  'E's  got  a  colley  dot 
wot  do,  though.  I'm  goin'  up  to  Murree  in  a  week. 
That  dawg'll  bring  fifteen  rupees  anywheres.' 

*You  had  better  spend  ut  in  Masses,'  said  Terence, 

242 


•LOVE-0 '-WOMEN' 

unbuckling  his  belt;  for  he  had  been  on  the  prisoner's 
guard,  standing  helmeted  and  bolt  upright  for  three 
long  hours. 

'Not  me,'  said  Ortheris  cheerfully.  'Gawd'll  put  it 
down  to  B  Comp'ny's  barrick-damages  one  o'  these 
days.     You  look  strapped,  Terence.' 

'Faith,  I'm  not  so  young  as  I  was.  That  guard- 
mountin'  wears  on  the  sole  av  the  fut,  and  this' — he 
sniffed  contemptuously  at  the  brick  veranda — 'is  as 
hard  setting  as  standin' !' 

'  Wait  a  minute.  I'll  get  the  cushions  out  of  my  cart,' 
I  said. 

'  'Strewth — sofies.  We're  going  it  gay,'  said  Ortheris, 
as  Terence  dropped  himself  section  by  section  on  the 
leather  cushions,  saying  prettily,  'May  ye  niver  want  a 
soft  place  wheriver  you  go,  an'  power  to  share  ut  wid  a 
frind.  Another  for  yourself?  That's  good.  It  lets  me 
sit  longways.  Stanley,  pass  me  a  pipe.  Augrrh!  An' 
that's  another  man  gone  all  to  pieces  bekaze  av  a  woman. 
I  must  ha'  been  on  forty  or  fifty  prisoners'  gyards,  first 
an'  last;  an'  I  hate  ut  new  ivry  time.' 

'Let's  see.  You  were  on  Losson's,  Lancey's,  Du- 
gard's,  and  Stebbins's,  that  I  can  remember,'  I  said. 

*  Ay,  an'  before  that  an'  before  that — scores  av  thim,' 
he  answered  with  a  worn  smile.  '  'Tis  better  to  die  than 
to  live  for  them,  though.  Whin  Raines  comes  out — 
he'll  be  changin'  his  kit  at  the  jail  now — he'll  think  that 
too.  He  shud  ha'  shot  himself  an'  the  woman  by  rights 
an'  made  a  clean  bill  av  all.  Now  he's  left  the  woman 
— she  tuk  tay  wid  Dinah  Sunday  gone  last — an'  he's 
left  himself.     Mackie's  the  lucky  man.' 

'He's  probably  getting  it  hot  where  he  is,*  I  ventured, 
for  I  knew  something  of  the  dead  Corporal's  record. 

243 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

*Be  sure  av  that,'  said  Terence,  spitting  over  the  edge 
of  the  veranda.  'But  fwhat  he'll  get  there  is  light 
marchin'-ordher  to  fwhat  he'd  ha'  got  here  if  he'd  lived.' 

'  Surely  not.  He'd  have  gone  on  and  forgotten — like 
the  others.' 

'Did  ye  know  Mackie  well,  sorr?'  said  Terence. 

'He  was  on  the  Pattiala  guard  of  honour  last  winter, 
and  I  went  out  shooting  with  him  in  an  ekka  for  the  day, 
and  I  found  him  rather  an  amusing  man.' 

'Well,  he'll  ha'  got  shut  av  amusemints,  excipt  turnin' 
from  wan  side  to  the  other,  these  few  years  to  come.  I 
knew  Mackie,  an'  I've  seen  too  many  to  be  mistuk  in 
the  muster  av  wan  man.  He  might  ha'  gone  on  an'  for- 
got as  you  say,  sorr,  but  he  was  a  man  wid  an  educashin, 
an'  he  used  ut  for  his  schames;  an'  the  same  educashin, 
an'  talkin',  an'  all  that  made  him  able  to  do  fwhat  he 
had  a  mind  to  wid  a  woman,  that  same  wud  turn  back 
again  in  the  long-run  an'  tear  him  alive.  I  can't  say 
fwhat  that  I  mane  to  say  bekaze  I  don't  know  how,  but 
Mackie  was  the  spit  an'  livin'  image  av  a  man  that  I  saw 
march  the  same  march  all  but;  an'  'twas  worse  for  him 
that  he  did  not  come  by  Mackie's  ind.  Wait  while  I  re- 
member now.  'Twas  whin  I  was  in  the  Black  Tyrone, 
an'  he  was  drafted  us  from  Portsmouth ;  an'  fwhat  was 
his  misbegotten  name?  Larry — Larry  Tighe  ut  was; 
an'  wan  of  the  draft  said  he  was  a  gentleman-ranker,  an' 
Larry  tuk  an'  three-parts  killed  him  for  saying  so.  An' 
he  was  a  big  man,  an'  a  strong  man,  an'  a  handsome  man, 
an'  that  tells  heavy  in  practice  wid  some  women,  but, 
takin'  them  by  and  large,  not  wid  all.  Yet  'twas  wid  all 
that  Larry  dealt — all — for  he  cud  put  the  comether  on 
any  woman  that  trod  the  green  earth  av  God,  an'  he 
knew  ut.     Like  Mackie  that's  roastin'  now,  he  knew  ut, 

244 


'LOVE-0 '-WOMEN' 

an'  niver  did  he  put  the  comether  on  any  woman  save 
an'  excipt  for  the  black  shame.  'Tis  not  me  that  shud  be 
talkin',  dear  knows,  dear  knows,  but  the  most  av  my 
mis — misallinces  was  for  pure  devilry,  an'  mighty  sorry 
I  have  been  whin  harm  came;  an'  time  an'  again  wid  a 
girl,  ay,  an'  a  woman  too,  for  the  matter  av  that,  whin 
I  have  seen  by  the  eyes  av  her  that  I  was  makin'  more 
throuble  than  I  talked,  I  have  hild  off  an'  let  be  for  the 
sake  av  the  mother  that  bore  me.  But  Larry,  I'm 
thinkin',  he  was  suckled  by  a  she-devil,  for  he  never  let 
wan  go  that  came  nigh  to  listen  to  him.  'Twas  his  busi- 
ness, as  if  it  might  ha'  ben  sinthry-go.  He  was  a  good 
soldier  too.  Now  there  was  the  Colonel's  governess — 
an'  he  a  privit  too! — that  was  never  known  in  barricks; 
an'  wan  av  the  Major's  maids,  and  she  was  promised  to 
a  man;  an'  some  more  outside;  an'  fwhat  ut  was  amongst 
us  we'll  never  know  till  Judgment  Day.  'Twas  the  na- 
ture av  the  baste  to  put  the  comether  on  the  best  av 
thim — not  the  prettiest  by  any  manner  av  manes^but 
the  like  av  such  women  as  you  cud  lay  your  hand  on  the 
Book  an'  swear  there  was  niver  thought  av  foolishness 
in.  An'  for  that  very  reason,  mark  you,  he  was  niver 
caught.  He  came  close  to  ut  wanst  or  twice,  but  caught 
he  niver  was,  an'  that  cost  him  more  at  the  ind  than  the 
beginnin'.  He  talked  to  me  more  than  most,  bekaze  he 
tould  me,  barrin'  the  accident  av  my  educashin,  I'd  av 
been  the  same  kind  av  divil  he  was.  "An'  is  ut  like," 
he  wud  say,  houldin'  his  head  high — "is  ut  like  that  Vd 
iver  be  thrapped?  For  fwhat  am  I  when  all's  said  an' 
done?"  he  sez.  "A  damned  privit,"  sez  he.  "An'  is 
ut  like,  think  you,  that  thim  I  know  wud  be  connect  wid 
a  privit  like  me?  Number  tin  thousand  four  hundred 
an'  sivin,"  he  sez  grinnin'.     I  knew  by  the  turn  av  his 

245 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

spache  when  he  was  not  takin'  care  to  talk  rough-shod 
that  he  was  a  gentleman-ranker. 

'  "I  do  not  undherstan'  ut  at  all,"  I  sez;  "but  I  know, 
sez  I,  "that  the  divil  looks  out  av  your  eyes,  an'  I'll 
have  no  share  wid  you.  A  little  fun  by  way  av  amuse- 
mint  where  'twill  do  no  harm,  Larry,  is  right  and  fair, 
but  I  am  mistook  if  'tis  any  amusemint  to  you,"  I  sez. 

'  "You  are  much  mistook,"  he  sez.  "An'  I  counsel 
you  not  to  judge  your  betters." 

'  "My  betthers!"  I  sez.  "God  help  you,  Larry. 
There's  no  betther  in  this;  'tis  all  bad,  as  ye  will  find  for 
yoursilf." 

'  "You're  not  like  me,"  he  says,  tossin'  his  head. 

*  "Praise  the  Saints,  I  am  not,"  I  sez.  "Fwhat  I 
have  done  I  have  done  an'  been  crool  sorry  for.  Fwhin 
your  time  comes,"  sez  I,  "ye'll  remimber  fwhat  I  say." 

'  "An'  whin  that  time  comes,"  sez  he,  "I'll  come  to 
you  for  ghostly  consolation.  Father  Terence,"  an'  at 
that  he  wint  off  afther  some  more  divil's  business — for 
to  get  expayrience,  he  tould  me.  He  was  wicked — rank 
wicked — wicked  as  all  Hell !  I'm  not  construct  by  na- 
ture to  go  in  fear  av  any  man,  but,  begad,  I  was  afraid 
av  Larry.  He'd  come  in  to  barricks  wid  his  cap  on  three 
hairs,  an'  lie  on  his  cot  and  stare  at  the  ceilin',  and  now 
an'  again  he'd  fetch  a  little  laugh,  the  like  av  a  splash  in 
the  bottom  av  a  well,  an'  by  that  I  knew  he  was  schamin' 
new  wickedness,  an'  I'd  be  afraid.  All  this  was  long  an' 
long  ago,  but  ut  hild  me  straight — for  a  while. 

*  I  tould  you,  did  I  not,  sorr,  that  I  was  caressed  an' 
pershuadedto  lave  the  Tyrone  on  account  ava  throuble?' 

*  Something  to  do  with  a  belt  and  a  man's  head,  wasn't 
it?  *     Terence  had  never  given  the  tale  in  full. 

*It  was.     Faith,  ivry  time  I  go  on  prisoner's  gyard  in 

246 


*  LOVE-0- WOMEN' 

coort  I  wondher  fwhy  I  was  not  where  the  pris'ner  is. 
But  the  man  I  struk  tuk  it  in  fair  fight,  an'  he  had  the 
good  sinse  not  to  die.  Considher  now,  fwhat  wud  ha' 
come  to  the  Arrmy  if  he  had !  I  was  enthreated  to  ex- 
change, an'  my  Commandin'  Orf  cer  pled  wid  me.  I 
wint,  not  to  be  disobhgin',  an'  Larry  tould  me  he  was 
powerful  sorry  to  lose  me,  though  fwhat  I'd  done  to 
make  him  sorry  I  do  not  know.  So  to  the  Ould  Reg'- 
mint  I  came,  lavin'  Larry  to  go  to  the  divil  his  own  way, 
an'  niver  expectin'  to  see  him  again  excipt  as  a  shootin'- 
case  in  barracks.  .  .  .  Who's  that  quittin'  the  com- 
pound?' Terence's  quick  eye  had  caught  sight  of  a 
white  uniform  skulking  behind  the  hedge. 

'The  Sergeant's  gone  visiting,'  said  a  voice. 

'Thin  I  command  here,  an'  I  will  have  no  sneakin' 
away  to  the  bazar,  an'  huntin'  for  you  wid  a  pathrol  at 
midnight.  Nalson,  for  I  know  ut's  you,  come  back  to 
the  veranda.' 

Nalson,  detected,  slunk  back  to  his  fellows.  There 
was  a  grumble  that  died  away  in  a  minute  or  two,  and 
Terence  turning  on  the  other  side  went  on : — 

'That  was  the  last  I  saw  av  Larry  for  a  while.  Ex- 
change is  the  same  as  death  for  not  thinkin',  an'  by 
token  I  married  Dinah,  an'  that  kept  me  from  remim- 
berin'  ould  times.  Thin  we  went  up  to  the  Front,  an* 
ut  tore  my  heart  in  tu  to  lave  Dinah  at  the  Depot  in 
Pindi.  Consequint,  whin  I  was  at  the  Front  I  fought 
circumspectuous  till  I  warrmed  up,  an'  thin  I  fought 
double  tides.  You  remember  fwhat  I  tould  you  in  the 
gyard-gate  av  the  fight  at  Silver's  Theatre?' 

'Wot's  that  about  Silver's  Theayter?'  said  Ortheris 
quickly,  over  his  shoulder. 

*  Nothin',  little  man.     A  tale  that  ye  know.     As  I  was 

247 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

sayin',  afther  that  fight,  us  av  the  Ould  Rig'mint  an'  the 
Tyrone  was  all  mixed  together  takin'  shtock  av  the  dead, 
an'  av  coorse  I  wint  about  to  find  if  there  was  any  man 
that  remembered  me.  The  second  man  I  came  acrost — 
an'  how  I'd  missed  him  in  the  fight  I  do  not  know — was 
Larry,  an'  a  fine  man  he  looked,  but  oulder,  by  reason 
that  he  had  fair  call  to  be.  "Larry,"  sez  I,  "how  is  ut 
widyou?" 

'  "  Ye're  callin'  the  wrong  man,"  he  sez,  wid  his  gentle- 
man's smile,  "Larry  has  been  dead  these  three  years. 
They  call  him  '  Love-o'-Women '  now,"  he  sez.  By  that 
I  knew  the  ould  divil  was  in  him  yet,  but  the  ind  av  a 
fight  is  no  time  for  the  beginnin'  av  confession,  so  we  sat 
down  an'  talked  av  times. 

'  "They  tell  me  you're  a  married  man,"  he  sez,  puffin' 
slow  at  his  poipe.     "Are  ye  happy? " 

*  "  I  will  be  whin  I  get  back  to  Depot,"  I  sez.  "  'Tis  a 
reconnaissance-honeymoon  now." 

'  "  I'm  married  too,"  he  sez,  puffin'  slow  an'  more  slow, 
an'  stopperin'  wid  his  forefinger. 

'  "Send  you  happiness,"  I  sez.  "That's  the  best 
hearin'  for  a  long  time." 

'  "Are  ye  av  that  opinion?"  he  sez;  an'  thin  he  began 
talkin'  av  the  campaign.  The  sweat  av  Silver's  Theatre 
was  not  dhry  upon  him  an'  he  was  prayin'  for  more  work. 
I  was  well  contint  to  lie  and  listen  to  the  cook-pot  lids. 

'  Whin  he  got  up  off  the  ground  he  shtaggered  a  little, 
an'  laned  over  all  twisted. 

'  '^Ye've  got  more  than  ye  bargained  for,"  I  sez. 
"Take  an  inventory,  Larry.     'Tis  like  you're  hurt." 

*He  turned  round  stiff  as  a  ramrod  an'  damned  the 
eyes  av  me  up  an'  down  for  an  impartinent  Irish-faced 
ape.     If  that  had  been  in  barracks,  I'd  ha'  stretched 

248 


'LOVE-0 '-WOMEN' 

him  an'  no  more  said;  but  'twas  at  the  Front,  an'  afther 
such  a  fight  as  Silver's  Theatre  I  knew  there  was  no 
callin'  a  man  to  account  for  his  tempers.  He  might  as 
well  ha'  kissed  me.  Aftherwards  I  was  well  pleased  I 
kept  my  fists  home.  Thin  our  Captain  Crook — Cruik- 
na-bulleen — came  up.  He'd  been  talkin'  to  the  little 
orf'cer  bhoy  av  the  Tyrone.  "We're  all  cut  to  windy- 
straws,"  he  sez,  "but  the  Tyrone  are  damned  short  for 
non-coms.  Go  you  over  there,  Mulvaney,  an'  be  Dep- 
uty-Sergeant, Corp'ral,  Lance,  an'  everything  else  ye  can 
lay  hands  on  till  I  bid  you  stop." 

'  I  wint  over  an'  tuk  hould.  There  was  wan  sergeant 
left  standin',  an'  they'd  pay  no  heed  to  him.  The  rem- 
nint  was  me,  an'  'twas  full  time  I  came.  Some  I  talked 
to,  an'  some  I  did  not,  but  before  night  the  bhoys  av  the 
Tyrone  stud  to  attention,  begad,  if  I  sucked  on  my  poipe 
above  a  whishper.  Betune  you  an'  me  an'  Bobbs  I  was 
commandin'  the  Company,  an'  that  was  what  Crook 
had  thransferred  me  for;  an'  the  little  orf'cer  bhoy  knew 
ut,  and  I  knew  ut,  but  the  Comp'ny  did  not.  And  there, 
mark  you,  is  the  vartue  that  no  money  an'  no  dhrill  can 
buy — the  vartue  av  the  ould  soldier  that  knows  his  orf '- 
cer's  work  an'  does  ut  for  him  at  the  salute ! 

'Thin  the  Tyrone,  wid  the  Ould  Rig'mint  in  touch, 
was  sint  maraudin'  an'  prowlin'  acrost  the  hills  promish- 
cuous  an'  onsatisfactory.  'Tis  my  privit  opinion  that  a 
gin'ral  does  not  know  half  his  time  fwhat  to  do  wid 
three-quarthers  his  command.  So  he  shquats  on  his 
hunkers  an'  bids  them  run  round  an'  round  forninst  him 
while  he  considhers  on  it.  Whin  by  the  process  av  na- 
ture they  get  sejuced  into  a  big  fight  that  was  none  av 
their  seekin',  he  sez:  "Obsarve  my  shuperior  janius.  I 
meant  ut  to  come  so."     We  ran  round  an'  about,  an'  all 

249 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

we  got  was  shootin'  into  the  camp  at  night,  an'  rushin' 
empty  sungars  wid  the  long  bradawl,  an'  bein'  hit  from 
behind  rocks  till  we  was  wore  out — all  excipt  Love-o'- 
Women.  That  puppy-dog  business  was  mate  an'  dhrink 
to  him.  Begad  he  cud  niver  get  enough  av  ut.  Me  well 
knowin'  that  it  is  just  this  desultorial  campaignin'  that 
kills  the  best  men,  an'  suspicionin'  that  if  I  was  cut,  the 
little  orf'cer  bhoy  wud  expind  all  his  men  in  thryin'  to 
get  out,  I  wud  lie  most  powerful  doggo  whin  I  heard  a 
shot,  an'  curl  my  long  legs  behind  a  bowlder,  an'  run 
like  blazes  whin  the  ground  was  clear.  Faith,  if  I  led 
the  Tyrone  in  rethreat  wanst  I  led  thim  forty  times! 
Love-o'-Women  wud  stay  pottin'  an'  pottin'  from  behind 
a  rock,  and  wait  till  the  fire  was  heaviest,  an'  thin  stand 
up  an'  fire  man-height  clear.  He  wud  lie  out  in  camp 
too  at  night,  snipin'  at  the  shadows,  for  he  never  tuk  a 
mouthful  av  slape.  My  commandin'  orf'cer — save  his 
little  soul! — cud  not  see  the  beauty  av  my  strategims, 
an'  whin  the  Ould  Rig'mint  crossed  us,  an'  that  was 
wanst  a  week,  he'd  throt  off  to  Crook,  wid  his  big  blue 
eyes  as  round  as  saucers,  an'  lay  an  information  against 
me.  I  heard  thim  wanst  talkin'  through  the  tent-wall, 
an'  I  nearly  laughed. 

'  "He  runs — runs  like  a  hare,"  sez  the  little  orf'cer 
bhoy.     "  'Tis  demoralisin'  my  men." 

'  "Ye  damned  little  fool,"  sez  Crook,  laughin',  "he's 
larnin'  you  your  business.  Have  ye  been  rushed  at 
night  yet?" 

'  "No,"  sez  that  child ;  wishful  he  had  been. 

*  "Have  you  any  wounded?"  sez  Crook. 

'  "No,"  he  sez.  "There  was  no  chanst  for  that. 
They  follow  Mulvaney  too  quick,"  he  sez. 

*  "Fwhat  more   do  you  want,   thin?"   sez   Crook. 

250 


'LOVE-0'- WOMEN' 

"Terence  is  bloodin'  you  neat  an'  handy,"  he  sez.  "He 
knows  fwhat  you  do  not,  an'  that's  that  there's  a  time 
for  ivrything.  He'll  not  lead  you  wrong,"  he  sez,  "but 
I'd  give  a  month's  pay  to  larn  fwhat  he  thinks  av  you." 

'That  kept  the  babe  quiet,  but  Love-o'-Women  was 
pokin'  at  me  for  ivrything  I  did,  an'  specially  my  ma- 
noeuvres. 

'  "  Mr.  Mulvaney,"  he  sez  wan  evenin',  very  contemp- 
shus,  "you're  growin'  very  jeldy  on  your  feet.  Among 
gentlemen,"  he  sez,  "among  gentlemen  that's  called  no 
pretty  name." 

'  "Among  privits  'tis  different,"  I  sez.  "Get  back  to 
your  tent.     I'm  sergeant  here,"  I  sez. 

'There  was  just  enough  in  the  voice  av  me  to  tell  him 
he  was  playin'  wid  his  life  betune  his  teeth.  He  wint 
off,  an'  I  noticed  that  this  man  that  was  contempshus 
set  off  from  the  halt  wid  a  shunt  as  tho'  he  was  bein' 
kicked  behind.  That  same  night  there  was  a  Paythan 
picnic  in  the  hills  about,  an'  firin'  into  our  tents  fit  to 
wake  the  livin'  dead.  "Lie  down  all,"  I  sez.  "Lie 
down  an'  kape  still.  They'll  no  more  than  waste  am- 
munition." 

'I  heard  a  man's  feet  on  the  ground,  an'  thin  a  'Tini 
joinin'  in  the  chorus.  I'd  been  lyin'  warm,  thinkin'  av 
Dinah  an'  all,  but  I  crup  out  wid  the  bugle  for  to  look 
round  in  case  there  was  a  rush;  an'  the  'Tini  was  flashin' 
at  the  fore-ind  av  the  camp,  an'  the  hill  near  by  was 
fair  flickerin'  wid  long-range  fire.  Undher  the  starlight 
I  behild  Love-o'-Women  settin'  on  a  rock  wid  his  belt 
and  helmet  off.  He  shouted  wanst  or  twice,  an'  thin  I 
heard  him  say :  "They  shud  ha'  got  the  range  long  ago. 
Maybe  they'll  fire  at  the  flash."  Thin  he  fired  again, 
an'  that  dhrew  a  fresh  volley,  and  the  long  slugs  that 

251 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

they  chew  in  their  teeth  came  floppin'  among  the  rocks 
like  tree-toads  av  a  hot  night.  "That's  better,"  sez 
Love-o'-Women.  "Oh  Lord,  how  long,  how  long!" 
he  sez,  an'  at  that  he  lit  a  match  an'  held  ut  above  his 
head. 

'  "Mad,"  thinks  I,  "mad  as  a  coot,"  an'  I  tuk  wan 
stip  forward,  an'  the  nixt  I  knew  was  the  sole  av  my  boot 
flappin'  like  a  cavalry  gydon  an'  the  funny-bone  av  my 
toes  tinglin'.  'Twas  a  clane-cut  shot — a  slug — that 
niver  touched  sock  or  hide,  but  set  me  barefut  on  the 
rocks.  At  that  I  tuk  Love'-o- Women  by  the  scruff  an' 
threw  him  under  a  bowlder,  an'  whin  I  sat  down  I  heard 
the  bullets  patterin'  on  that  same  good  stone. 

'  "Ye  may  dhraw  your  own  wicked  fire,"  I  sez,  shakin' 
him,  "but  I'm  not  goin'  to  be  kilt  too." 

'  "Ye've  come  too  soon,"  he  sez.  "Ye've  come  too 
soon.  In  another  minute  they  cudn't  ha'  missed  me. 
Mother  av  God,"  he  sez,  "fwhy  did  ye  not  lave  me  be? 
Now  'tis  all  to  do  again,"  an'  he  hides  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

*  "So  that's  it,"  I  sez,  shakin'  him  again.  "That's 
the  manin'  av  your  disobeyin'  ordhers." 

*  "I  dare  not  kill  meself,"  he  sez,  rockin'  to  and  fro. 
"My  own  hand  wud  not  let  me  die,  and  there's  not  a 
bullet  this  month  past  wud  touch  me.  I'm  to  die  slow," 
he  sez.  "I'm  to  die  slow.  But  I'm  in  hell  now,"  he 
sez,  shriekin'  like  a  woman.     "  I'm  in  hell  now!" 

'  "God  be  good  to  us  all,"  I  sez,  for  I  saw  his  face. 
"Will  ye  tell  a  man  the  throuble?  If  'tis  not  murder, 
maybe  we'll  mend  it  yet." 

'  At  that  he  laughed.  "  D'you  remember  fwhat  I  said 
in  the  Tyrone  barricks  about  comin'  to  you  for  ghostly 
consolation?     I  have  not  forgot,"  he  sez.    "That  came 

252 


'LOVE-0 '-WOMEN' 

back,  and  the  rest  av  my  time  is  on  me  now,  Terence. 
I've  fought  ut  off  for  months  an'  months,  but  the  liquor 
will  not  bite  any  more.  Terence,"  he  sez,  "I  can't  get 
dhrunk!" 

'Thin  I  knew  he  spoke  the  truth  about  bein'  in  hell, 
for  whin  liquor  does  not  take  hould  the  sowl  ava  man  is 
rotten  in  him.  But  me  bein'  such  as  I  was,  fwhat  could 
I  say  to  him? 

'  "Di'monds  an'  pearls,"  he  begins  again.  "Di'- 
monds  an'  pearls  I  have  thrown  away  wid  both  hands — - 
an'  fwhat  have  I  left?     Oh,  fwhat  have  I  left?  " 

'He  was  shakin'  an'  tremblin'  up  against  my  shoul- 
dher,  an'  the  slugs  were  singin'  overhead,  an'  I  was  won- 
derin'  whether  my  little  bhoy  wud  have  sinse  enough  to 
kape  his  men  quiet  through  all  this  firin'. 

'  "So  long  as  I  did  not  think,"  sez  Love-o'-Women, 
"so  long  I  did  not  see — I  wud  not  see,  but  I  can  now, 
what  I've  lost.  The  time  an'  the  place,"  he  sez,  "an' 
the  very  words  I  said  whin  ut  pleased  me  to  go  off  alone 
to  hell.  But  thin,  even  thin,"  he  sez,  wrigglin'  tremen- 
jous,  "  I  wud  not  ha'  been  happy.  There  was  too  much 
behind  av  me.  How  cud  I  ha'  believed  her  sworn  oath 
— me  that  have  bruk  mine  again  an'  again  for  the  sport 
av  seein'  thim  cry?  An'  there  are  the  others,"  he  sez. 
"  Oh,  what  will  I  do— what  will  I  do?  "  He  rocked  back 
an'  forward  again,  an'  I  think  he  was  cryin'  like  wan  av 
the  women  he  talked  av. 

*The  full  half  of  fwhat  he  said  was  Brigade  Ordhers  to 
me,  but  from  the  rest  an'  the  remnint  I  suspicioned  some- 
thin'  av  his  throuble.  'Twas  the  judgmint  av  God  had 
grup  the  heel  av  him,  as  I  tould  him  'twould  in  the 
Tyrone  barricks.  The  slugs  was  singin'  over  our  rock 
more  an'  more,  an'  I  sez  for  to  divart  him:     "Let  bad 

253 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

alone,"  I  sez.  "They'll  be  tryin'  to  rush  the  camp  in  a 
minut'." 

'  I  had  no  more  than  said  that  whin  a  Paythan  man 
crep'  up  on  his  belly  wid  his  knife  betune  his  teeth,  not 
twinty  yards  from  us.  Love-o'-Women  jumped  up  an' 
fetched  a  yell,  an'  the  man  saw  him  an'  ran  at  him  (he'd 
left  his  rifle  under  the  rock)  wid  the  knife.  Love-o'- 
Women  niver  turned  a  hair,  but  by  the  Living  Power, 
for  I  saw  ut,  a  stone  twisted  under  the  Paythan  man's 
feet  an'  he  came  down  full  sprawl,  an'  his  knife  wint 
tinkling  acrost  the  rocks!  "I  tould  you  I  was  Cain," 
sez  Love-o'-Women.  "Fwhat's  the  use  av  killin'  him? 
He's  an  honust  man — by  compare." 

'I  was  not  dishputin'  about  the  morils  av  Paythans 
that  tide,  so  I  dhropped  Love-o'-Women's  butt  acrost 
the  man's  face,  an'  "Hurry  into  camp,"  I  sez,  "for  this 
may  be  the  first  av  a  rush." 

'There  was  no  rush  after  all,  though  we  waited  undher 
arms  to  give  them  a  chanst.  The  Paythan  man  must 
ha'  come  alone  for  the  mischief,  an'  afther  a  while  Love- 
o'-Women  wint  back  to  his  tint  wid  that  quare  lurchin' 
sind-off  in  his  walk  that  I  cud  niver  understand.  Begad, 
I  pitied  him,  an'  the  more  bekaze  he  made  me  think  for 
the  rest  av  the  night  av  the  day  whin  I  was  confirmed 
Corp'ril,  not  actin'  Lef'tinant,  an'  my  thoughts  was  not 
good  to  me. 

'Ye  can  ondersthand  that  afther  that  night  we  came  to 
talkin'  a  dale  together,  an'  bit  by  bit  ut  came  out  fwhat 
I'd  suspicioned.  The  whole  av  his  carr'in's  on  an'  divil- 
ments  had  come  back  on  him  hard,  as  liquor  comes  back 
whin  you've  been  on  the  dhrink  for  a  wake.  All  he'd 
said  an'  all  he'd  done,  an'  only  he  cud  tell  how  much  that 
was,  come  back,  and  there  was  niver  a  minut's  peace 

254 


'LOVE-0 '-WOMEN' 

in  his  sowl.  'Twas  the  Horrors  widout  any  cause  to  see, 
an'  yet,  an'  yet — fwhat  am  I  talkin'  av?  He'd  ha'  taken 
the  Horrors  wid  thankfulness.  Beyon'  the  repentince 
av  the  man,  an'  that  was  beyon'  the  nature  av  man — 
awful,  awful,  to  behould !— there  was  more  that  was 
worst  than  any  repentince.  Av  the  scores  an'  scores 
that  he  called  over  in  his  mind  (an'  they  were  drivin' 
him  mad),  there  was,  mark  you,  wan  woman  av  all,  an' 
she  was  not  his  wife,  that  cut  him  to  the  quick  av  his 
marrow.  'Twas  there  he  said  that  he'd  thrown  away 
di'monds  an'  pearls  past  count,  an'  thin  he'd  begin  again 
like  a  blind  byle  in  an  oil-mill,  walkin'  round  and  round, 
to  considher  (him  that  was  beyond  all  touch  av  bein' 
happy  this  side  hell!)  how  happy  he  wud  ha'  been  wid 
her.  The  more  he  considhered,  the  more  he'd  consate 
himself  that  he'd  lost  mighty  happiness,  an'  thin  he  wud 
work  ut  all  backwards,  an'  cry  that  he  niver  cud  ha' 
been  happy  anyway. 

'Time  an'  time  an'  again  in  camp,  on  p'rade,  ay,  an' 
in  action,  I've  seen  that  man  shut  his  eyes  an'  duck  his 
head  as  ye  wud  duck  to  the  flicker  av  a  bay'nit.  For 
'twas  thin,  he  tould  me,  that  the  thought  av  all  he'd 
missed  came  an'  stud  forninst  him  like  red-hot  irons. 
For  what  he'd  done  wid  the  others  he  was  sorry,  but  he 
did  not  care;  but  this  wan  woman  that  I've  tould  of,  by 
the  Hilts  av  God,  she  made  him  pay  for  all  the  others 
twice  over!  Niver  did  I  know  that  a  man  cud  enjure 
such  tormint  widout  his  heart  crackin'  in  his  ribs,  an'  I 
have  been' — Terence  turned  the  pipe-stem  slowly  be- 
tween his  teeth — *  I  have  been  in  some  black  cells.  All 
I  iver  sufYered  tho'  was  not  to  be  talked  of  alongside  av 
him  .  .  .  an'  what  could  I  do?  Paternosters  was 
no  more  than  peas  on  plates  for  his  sorrows. 

255 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

'Evenshually  we  finished  our  prom'nade  acrost  the 
hills,  and,  thanks  to  me  for  the  same,  there  was  no 
casualties  an'  no  glory.  The  campaign  was  comin'  to 
an  ind,  an'  all  the  rig'mints  was  being  drawn  together 
for  to  be  sint  back  home.  Love-o'-Women  was  mighty 
sorry  bekaze  he  had  no  work  to  do,  an'  all  his  time  to 
think  in.  I've  heard  that  man  talkin'  to  his  belt-plate 
an'  his  side-arms  while  he  was  soldierin'  thim,  all  to  pre- 
vent himself  from  thinkin',  an'  ivry  time  he  got  up  afther 
he  had  been  settin'  down  or  wint  on  from  the  halt,  he'd 
start  wid  that  kick  an'  traverse  that  I  tould  you  of — his 
legs  sprawlin'  all  ways  to  wanst.  He  wud  niver  go  see 
the  docthor,  tho'  I  tould  him  to  be  wise.  He'd  curse  me 
up  an'  down  for  my  advice ;  but  I  knew  he  was  no  more 
a  man  to  be  reckoned  wid  than  the  little  bhoy  was  a 
commandin'  orf'cer,  so  I  let  his  tongue  run  if  it  aised 
him. 

'Wan  day — 'twas  on  the  way  back — I  was  walkin' 
round  camp  wid  him,  an'  he  stopped  an'  struck  ground 
wid  his  right  fut  three  or  four  times  doubtful.  "Fwhat 
is  ut?  "  I  sez.  "  Is  that  ground?  "  sez  he ;  an'  while  I  was 
thinkin'  his  mind  was  goin',  up  comes  the  docthor,  who'd 
been  anatomisin'  a  dead  bullock.  Love-o'-Women  starts 
to  go  on  quick,  an'  lands  me  a  kick  on  the  knee  while 
his  legs  was  gettin'  into  marchin'  ordher. 

'"Hould  on  there,"  sez  the  docthor;  an'  Love-o'- 
Women's  face,  that  was  lined  like  a  gridiron,  turns  red  as 
brick. 

'  "  'Tention,"  says  the  docthor;  an'  Love-o'-Women 
stud  so.  "Now  shut  your  eyes,"  sez  the  docthor.  "No, 
ye  must  not  hould  by  your  comrade." 

*  "  'Tis  all  up,"  sez  Love-o'-Women,  thrying  to  smile. 
"I'd  fall,  docthor,  an'  you  know  ut." 

256 


'LOVE-0 '-WOMEN  ^ 


C    i( 


Fall?"  I  sez.  "Fall  at  attention  wid  your  eyes 
shut!     Fwhat  do  you  mane? " 

'  "The  docthor  knows,"  he  sez.  "  I've  hild  up  as  long 
as  I  can,  but  begad  I'm  glad  'tis  all  done.  But  I  will  die 
slow,"  he  sez,  "  I  will  die  very  slow." 

'I  cud  see  by  the  docthor's  face  that  he  was  mortial 
sorry  for  the  man,  an'  he  ordered  him  to  hospital.  We 
wint  back  together,  an'  I  was  dumb-struck.  Love-o'- 
Women  was  cripplin'  and  crumblin'  at  ivry  step.  He 
walked  wid  a  hand  on  my  shoulder  all  slued  sideways, 
an'  his  right  leg  swingin'  like  a  lame  camel.  Me  not 
knowin'  more  than  the  dead  fwhat  ailed  him,  'twas  just 
as  though  the  docthor's  word  had  done  ut  all — as  if 
Love-o'-Women  had  but  been  waitin'  for  the  word  to 
let  go. 

*In  hospital  he  sez  somethin'  to  the  docthor  that  I 
could  not  catch. 

*  "Holy  Shmoke!"  sez  the  docthor,  "an'  who  are  you 
to  be  givin'  names  to  your  diseases?  'Tis  agin  all  the 
reg'lations." 

*  "I'll  not  be  a  privit  much  longer,"  sez  Love-o'-Wo- 
men in  his  gentleman's  voice,  an'  the  docthor  jumped. 

*  "Thrate  me  as  a  study,  Doctor  Lowndes,"  he  sez; 
an'  that  was  the  first  time  I'd  iver  heard  a  docthor  called 
his  name. 

*  "Good-bye,  Terence,"  sez  Love-o'-Women.  "'Tis 
a  dead  man  I  am  widout  the  pleasure  av  dyin'.  You'll 
come  an'  set  wid  me  sometimes  for  the  peace  avmysowl." 

'Now  I  had  been  minded  for  to  ask  Crook  to  take  me 
back  to  the  Ould  Rig'mint;  the  fightin'  was  over,  an'  I 
was  wore  out  wid  the  ways  av  the  bhoys  in  the  Tyrone ; 
but  I  shifted  my  will,  an'  hild  on,  and  wint  to  set  wid 
Love-o'-Women  in  the  hospital.     As  I  have  said,  sorr, 

257 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

the  man  bruk  all  to  little  pieces  under  my  hand.  How 
long  he  had  hild  up  an'  forced  himself  fit  to  march  I  can- 
not tell,  but  in  hospital  but  two  days  later  he  was  such 
as  I  hardly  knew.  I  shuk  hands  wid  him,  an'  his  grip 
was  fair  strong,  but  his  hands  wint  all  ways  to  wanst, 
an'  he  cud  not  button  his  tunic. 

'  "I'll  take  long  an'  long  to  die  yet,"  he  sez,  "for  the 
wages  av  sin  they're  like  interest  in  the  rig'mintal  savin's 
bank — sure,  but  a  damned  long  time  bein'  paid." 

'The  docthor  sez  to  me,  quiet  one  day,  "Has  Tighe 
there  anythin'  on  his  mind?"  he  sez.  "He's  burnin' 
himself  out." 

'  "How  shud  I  know,  sorr?"  I  sez,  as  innocint  as 
putty. 

'  "They  call  him  Love-o'- Women  in  the  Tyrone,  do 
they  not?"  he  sez.  "I  was  a  fool  to  ask.  Be  wid  him 
all  you  can.     He's  houldin'  on  to  your  strength." 

'  "But  fwhat  ails  him,  docthor?"  I  sez. 

'  "They  call  ut  Locomotus  attacks-us,"  he  sez,  "be- 
kaze,"  sez  he,  "ut  attacks  us  like  a  locomotive,  if  ye 
know  fwhat  that  manes.  An'  ut  comes,"  sez  he,  lookin' 
at  me,  "ut  comes  from  bein'  called  Love-o'- Women." 

*  "You're  jokin',  docthor,"  I  sez. 

'  "Jokin' !"  sez  he.  "  If  iver  you  feel  that  you've  got 
a  felt  sole  in  your  boot  instid  av  a  Government  bull's- 
wool,  come  to  me,"  he  sez,  "an'  I'll  show  you  whether 
'tis  a  joke." 

'You  would  not  belave  ut,  sorr,  but  that,  an'  seein' 
Love-o'- Women  overtuk  widout  warnin',  put  the  cowld 
fear  av  Attacks-us  on  me  so  strong  that  for  a  week  an' 
more  I  was  kickin'  my  toes  against  stones  an'  stumps 
for  the  pleasure  av  feelin'  thim  hurt. 

'An'  Love-o'-Women  lay  in  the  cot  (he  might  have 

258 


'LOVE-0 '-WOMEN' 

gone  down  wid  the  wounded  before  an'  before,  but  he 
asked  to  stay  wid  me),  and  fwhat  there  was  in  his  mind 
had  full  swing  at  him  night  an'  day  an'  ivry  hour  av  the 
day  an'  the  night,  and  he  shrivelled  like  beef-rations  in  a 
hot  sun,  an'  his  eyes  was  like  owls'  eyes,  an'  his  hands 
was  mut'nous. 

'They  was  gettin'  the  rig'mints  away  wan  by  wan,  the 
campaign  bein'  inded,  but  as  ushuil  they  was  behavin' 
as  if  niver  a  rig'mint  had  been  moved  before  in  the  mem- 
'ry  av  man.  Now,  fwhy  is  that,  sorr?  There's  fightin', 
in  an'  out,  nine  months  av  the  twelve  somewhere  in  the 
army.  There  has  been — for  years  an'  years  an'  years; 
an'  I  wud  ha'  thought  they'd  begin  to  get  the  hang  av 
providin'  for  throops.  But  no !  Ivry  time  'tis  like  a  girls' 
school meetin'  a  big  red  bull  whin  they're  goin'  to  church; 
an'  "Mother  av  God,"  sez  the  Commissariat  an'  the 
Railways  an'  the  Barrick-masters,  "fwhat  will  we  do 
now?"  The  ordhers  came  to  us  av  the  Tyrone  an'  the 
Ould  Rig'mint  an'  half  a  dozen  more  to  go  down,  an' 
there  the  ordhers  stopped  dumb.  We  went  down,  by 
the  special  grace  av  God — down  the  Khaiber  anyways. 
There  was  sick  wid  us,  an'  I'm  thinkin'  that  some  av 
thim  was  jolted  to  death  in  the  doolies,  but  they  was 
anxious  to  be  kilt  so  if  they  cud  get  to  Peshawur  alive 
the  sooner.  I  walked  by  Love-o'-Women — there  was 
no  marchin',  an'  Love-o'-Women  was  not  in  a  stew  to 
get  on.  "If  I'd  only  ha'  died  up  there,"  sez  he  through 
the  dooli-curtains,  an'  thin  he'd  twist  up  his  eyes  an' 
duck  his  headier  the  thoughts  that  come  an'  raked  him. 

'Dinah  was  in  Depot  at  Pindi,  but  I  wint  circum- 
spectuous,  for  well  I  knew  'tis  just  at  the  rump-ind  av 
all  things  that  his  luck  turns  on  a  man.  By  token  I  had 
seen  a  dhriver  of  a  batthery  goin'  by  at  a  trot  singin' 

259 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

"  Home,  swate  home  "  at  the  top  av  his  shout,  and  takin' 
no  heed  to  his  bridle-hand — I  had  seen  that  man  dhrop 
under  the  gun  in  the  middle  of  a  word,  and  come  out  by 
the  limber  like — like  a  frog  on  a  pave-stone.  No.  I 
wud  not  hurry,  though,  God  knows,  my  heart  was  all  in 
Pindi.  Love-o'-Women  saw  fwhat  was  in  my  mind, 
an'  "Go  on,  Terence,"  he  sez,  "I  know  fwhat's  waitin' 
for  you."  "I  will  not,"  I  sez.  '"Twill  kape  a  little 
yet." 

'Ye  know  the  turn  of  the  pass  forninst  Jumrood  and 
the  nine-mile  road  on  the  flat  to  Peshawur?  All  Pesha- 
wur  was  along  that  road  day  and  night  waitin'  for  frinds 
— men,  women,  childer,  and  bands.  Some  av  the  throops 
was  camped  round  Jumrood,  an'  some  wint  on  to  Pesha- 
wur to  get  away  down  to  their  cantonmints.  We  came 
through  in  the  early  mornin',  havin'  been  awake  the 
night  through,  and  we  dhruv  sheer  into  the  middle  av 
the  mess.  Mother  av  Glory,  will  I  iver  forget  that 
comin'  back?  The  light  was  not  fair  lifted,  and  the  first 
we  heard  was  "For  'tis  my  delight  av  a  shiny  night," 
frum  a  band  that  thought  we  was  the  second  four  com- 
p'nies  av  the  Lincolnshire.  At  that  we  was  forced  to 
sind  them  a  yell  to  say  who  we  was,  an'  thin  up  wint 
*'The  wearin'  av  the  Green."  It  made  me  crawl  all  up 
my  backbone,  not  havin'  taken  my  brequist.  Then 
right  smash  into  our  rear  came  fwhat  was  left  av  the 
Jock  Elliotts — wid  four  pipers  an'  not  half  a  kilt  among 
thim,  playin'  for  the  dear  life,  an'  swingin'  their  rumps 
like  buck-rabbits,  an'  a  native  rig'mint  shriekin'  blue 
murther.  Ye  niver  heard  the  like!  There  was  men 
cryin'  like  women  that  did — an'  faith  I  do  not  blame 
them!  Fwhat  bruk  me  down  was  the  Lancers'  Band — 
shinin'  an'  spick  like  angils,  wid  the  ould  dhrum-horse 

260 


'LOVE-0 '-WOMEN' 

at  the  head  an'  the  silver  kettle-dhrums  an'  all  an'  all, 
waitin'  for  their  men  that  was  behind  us.  They  shtruck 
up  the  Cavalry  Canter;  an'  begad  those  poor  ghosts  that 
had  not  a  sound  fut  in  a  throop  they  answered  to  ut;  the 
men  rockin'  in  their  saddles.  We  thried  to  cheer  them 
as  they  wint  by,  but  ut  came  out  like  a  big  gruntin' 
cough,  so  there  must  have  been  many  that  was  feelin' 
like  me.  Oh,  but  I'm  forgettin'!  The  Fly-by-Nights 
was  waitin'  for  their  second  battalion,  an'  whin  ut  came 
out,  there  was  the  Colonel's  horse  led  at  the  head — 
saddle-empty.  The  men  fair  worshipped  him,  an'  he'd 
died  at  Ali  Musjid  on  the  road  down.  They  waited  till 
the  remnint  av  the  battalion  was  up,  and  thin — clane 
against  ordhers,  for  who  wanted  that  chune  that  day? — 
they  wint  back  to  Peshawur  slow-time  an'  tearin'  the 
bowils  out  av  ivry  man  that  heard,  wid  "The  Dead 
March."  Right  acrost  our  line  they  wint,  an'  ye  know 
their  uniforms  are  as  black  as  the  Sweeps,  crawlin'  past 
like  the  dead,  an'  the  other  bands  damnin'  them  to  let 
be. 

'Little  they  cared.  The  carpse  was  wid  them,  an' 
they'd  ha'  taken  ut  so  through  a  Coronation.  Our  or- 
dhers was  to  go  into  Peshawur,  an'  we  wint  hot-fut  past 
the  Fly-by-Nights,  not  singin',  to  lave  that  chune  be- 
hind us.  That  was  how  we  tuk  the  road  of  the  other 
corps. 

'  'Twas  ringin'  in  my  ears  still  whin  I  felt  in  the  bones 
of  me  that  Dinah  was  comin',  an'  I  heard  a  shout,  an' 
thin  I  saw  a  horse  an'  a  tattoo  latherin'  down  the  road, 
hell-to-shplit,  under  women.  I  knew — I  knew!  Wan 
was  the  Tyrone  Colonel's  wife — ould  Becker's  lady — 
her  gray  hair  flyin'  an'  her  fat  round  carkiss  rowlin'  in 
the  saddle,  an'  the  other  was  Dinah,  that  shud  ha'  been 

261 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

at  Pindi.  The  Colonel's  lady  she  charged  the  head  av 
our  column  like  a  stone  wall,  an'  she  all  but  knocked 
Beeker  off  his  horse,  throwin'  her  arms  round  his  neck 
an'  blubberin',  "  Me  bhoy !  me  bhoy ! "  an'  Dinah  wheeled 
left  an'  came  down  our  flank,  an'  I  let  a  yell  that  had 
suffered  inside  av  me  for  months  and — Dinah  came! 
Will  I  iver  forget  that  while  I  live!  She'd  come  on  pass 
from  Pindi,  an'  the  Colonel's  lady  had  lint  her  the  tattoo. 
They'd  been  huggin'  an'  cryin'  in  each  other's  arms  all 
the  long  night. 

'So  she  walked  along  wid  her  hand  in  mine,  asking 
forty  questions  to  wanst,  an'  beggin'  me  on  the  Virgin 
to  make  oath  that  there  was  not  a  bullet  consaled  in  me, 
unbeknownst  somewhere,  an'  thin  I  remembered  Love- 
o'-Women.  He  was  watchin'  us,  an'  his  face  was  like 
the  face  av  a  divil  that  has  been  cooked  too  long.  I  did 
not  wish  Dinah  to  see  ut,  for  whin  a  woman's  runnin' 
over  with  happiness  she's  like  to  be  touched,  for  harm 
afterwards,  by  the  laste  little  thing  in  life.  So  I  dhrew 
the  curtain,  an'  Love-o'-Women  lay  back  and  groaned. 

*  Whin  we  marched  into  Peshawur  Dinah  wint  to  bar- 
racks to  wait  for  me,  an',  me  feelin'  so  rich  that  tide,  I 
wint  on  to  take  Love-o'-Women  to  hospital.  It  was  the 
last  I  cud  do,  an'  to  save  him  the  dust  an'  the  smother  I 
turned  the  dooli-men  down  a  road  well  clear  av  the  rest 
av  the  throops,  an'  we  wint  along,  me  talkin'  through 
the  curtains.     Av  a  sudden  I  heard  him  say: 

'  "Let  me  look.  For  the  mercy  av  Hiven,  let  me 
look."  I  had  been  so  tuk  up  wid  gettin'  him  out  av  the 
dust  an'  thinkin'  av  Dinah  that  I  had  not  kept  my  eyes 
about  me.  There  was  a  woman  ridin'  a  little  behind  av 
us;  an',  talkin'  ut  over  wid  Dinah  aftherwards,  that  same 
woman  must  ha'  rid  out  far  on  the  Jumrood  road.     Di- 

262 


'LOVE-0 '-WOMEN' 

nah  said  that  she  had  been  hoverin'  Hke  a  kite  on  the 
left  flank  av  the  columns. 

'  I  halted  the  dooli  to  set  the  curtains,  an'  she  rode  by, 
walkin'  pace,  an  Love-o'-Women's  eyes  wint  afther  her 
as  if  he  wud  fair  haul  her  down  from  the  saddle. 

'  "Follow  there,"  was  all  he  sez,  but  I  niver  heard  a 
man  speak  in  that  voice  before  or  since;  an'  I  knew  by 
those  two  wan  words  an'  the  look  in  his  face  that  she 
was  Di'monds-an'-Pearls  that  he'd  talked  av  in  his 
disthresses. 

'We  followed  till  she  turned  into  the  gate  av  a  little 
house  that  stud  near  the  Edwardes  Gate.  There  was 
two  girls  in  the  veranda,  an'  they  ran  in  whin  they  saw 
us.  Faith,  at  long  eye-range  it  did  not  take  me  a  wink 
to  see  fwhat  kind  av  house  ut  was.  The  throops  bein' 
there  an'  all,  there  was  three  or  four  such;  but  afther- 
wards  the  polls  bade  thim  go.  At  the  veranda  Love-o'- 
Women  sez,  catchin'  his  breath,  "Stop  here,"  an'  thin, 
an'  thin,  wid  a  grunt  that  must  ha'  tore  the  heart  up 
from  his  stummick,  he  swung  himself  out  av  the  dooli, 
an'  my  troth  he  stud  up  on  his  feet  wid  the  sweat  pourin' 
down  his  face!  If  Mackie  was  to  walk  in  here  now  I'd 
be  less  tuk  back  than  I  was  thin.  Where  he'd  dhrawn 
his  power  from,  God  knows — or  the  Divil — but  'twas 
a  dead  man  walkin'  in  the  sun,  wid  the  face  av  a  dead 
man  and  the  breath  av  a  dead  man,  hild  up  by  the 
Power,  an'  the  legs  an'  the  arms  av  the  carpse  obeyin' 
ordhers. 

'The  woman  stud  in  the  veranda.  She'd  been  a 
beauty  too,  though  her  eyes  was  sunk  in  her  head,  an' 
she  looked  Love-o'-Women  up  an'  down  terrible.  "An'/ 
she  sez,  kicking  back  the  tail  av  her  habit, — "An',"  she 
sez,  "fwhat  are  you  doin'  here,  married  man?" 

263 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

'  Love-o' -Women  said  nothin',  but  a  little  froth  came 
to  his  lips,  an'  he  wiped  ut  off  wid  his  hand  an'  looked  at 
her  an'  the  paint  on  her,  an'  looked,  an'  looked,  an' 
looked. 

'  "An'  yet,"  she  sez,  wid  a  laugh.  (Did  you  hear 
Raines's  wife  laugh  whin  Mackie  died?  Ye  did  not? 
Well  for  you.)  "An'  yet,"  she  sez,  "who  but  you  have 
betther  right,"  sez  she.  "You  taught  me  the  road. 
You  showed  me  the  way,"  she  sez.  "Ay,  look,"  she  sez, 
"for  'tis  your  work;  you  that  tould  me — d'  you  remim- 
ber  it? — that  a  woman  who  was  false  to  wan  man  cud  be 
false  to  two.  I  have  been  that,"  she  sez,  "that  an'  more, 
for  you  always  said  I  was  a  quick  learner,  Ellis.  Look 
well,"  she  sez,  "for  it  is  me  that  you  called  your  wife  in 
the  sight  av  God  long  since."     An'  she  laughed. 

'  Love-o'-Women  stud  still  in  the  sun  widout  answer- 
in'.  Thin  he  groaned  an  coughed  to  wanst,  an'  I  thought 
'twas  the  death-rattle,  but  he  niver  tuk  his  eyes  off  her 
face,  not  for  a  blink.  Ye  cud  ha'  put  her  eyelashes 
through  the  flies  av  an  E.  P.  tent,  they  were  so  long. 

'  "Fwhat  do  you  do  here?"  she  sez,  word  by  word, 
"that  have  taken  away  my  joy  in  my  man  this  five 
years  gone — that  have  broken  my  rest  an'  killed  my 
body  an'  damned  my  soul  for  the  sake  av  seein'  how 
'twas  done.  Did  your  expayrience  aftherwards  bring 
you  acrost  any  woman  that  give  you  more  than  I  did? 
Wud  I  not  ha'  died  for  you,  an'  wid  you,  Ellis?  Ye 
know  that,  man!  If  iver  your  lyin'  sowl  saw  truth  in 
uts  life  ye  know  that." 

'An'  Love-o'-Women  lifted  up  his  head  and  said,  "I 
knew,"  an'  that  was  all.  While  she  was  spakin'  the 
Power  hild  him  up  parade-set  in  the  sun,  an'  the  sweat 
dhripped  undher  his  helmet.     'Twas  more  an'  more 

264 


'LOVE-0 '-WOMEN' 

throuble  for  him  to  talk,  an'  his  mouth  was  running 
twistways. 

'  "Fwhat  do  you  do  here?"  she  sez,  an'  her  voice  wint 
up.  'Twas  hke  bells  tollin'  before.  "Time  was  whin 
you  were  quick  enough  wid  your  words, — you  that 
talked  me  down  to  hell.  Are  ye  dumb  now?"  An' 
Love-o'-Women  got  his  tongue,  an'  sez  simple,  like  a 
little  child,  "May  I  come  in?"  he  sez. 

'  "The  house  is  open  day  an'  night,"  she  sez,  wid  a 
laugh;  an'  Love-o'-Women  ducked  his  head  an'  hild  up 
his  hand  as  tho'  he  was  gyardin'.  The  Power  was  on 
him  still — it  hild  him  up  still,  for,  by  my  sowl,  as  I'll 
never  save  ut,  he  walked  up  the  veranda  steps  that  had 
been  a  livin'  carpse  in  hospital  for  a  month! 

*  "An'  now?"  she  sez,  lookin'  at  him;  an'  the  red  paint 
stud  lone  on  the  white  av  her  face  like  a  bull's-eye  on  a 
target. 

*He  lifted  up  his  eyes,  slowan' very  slow,  an'  helooked 
at  her  long  an'  very  long,  an'  he  tuk  his  spache  betune 
his  teeth  wid  a  wrench  that  shuk  him. 

*  "I'm  dyin',  Aigypt — dyin',"  he  sez.  Ay,  those 
were  his  words,  for  I  remimber  the  name  he  called  her. 
He  was  turnin'  the  death-colour,  but  his  eyes  niver 
rowled.  They  were  set — set  on  her.  Widout  word  or 
warnin'  she  opened  her  arms  full  stretch,  an'  "Here!" 
she  sez.  (Oh,  fwhat  a  golden  mericle  av  a  voice  ut  was !) 
"Die  here!"  she  sez;  an'  Love-o'-Women  dhropped  for- 
ward, an'  she  hild  him  up,  for  she  was  a  fine  big  woman. 

'  I  had  no  time  to  turn,  bekaze  that  minut  I  heard  the 
sowl  quit  him — tore  out  in  the  death-rattle — an'  she 
laid  him  back  in  a  long  chair,  an'  she  sez  to  me,  "Mis- 
ther  soldier,"  she  sez,  "will  ye  not  wait  an'  talk  to  wan 
av  the  girls?    This  sun's  too  much  for  him." 

265 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

*  Well  I  knew  there  was  no  sun  he'd  iver  see,  but  I  cud 
not  spake,  so  I  wint  away  wid  the  empty  dooli  to  find 
the  docthor.  He'd  been  breakfastin'  an'  lunchin'  iver 
since  we'd  come  in,  an'  he  was  full  as  a  tick. 

'  "Faith,  ye've  got  dhrunk  mighty  soon,"  he  sez,  when 
I'd  tould  him,  "to  see  that  man  walk.  Barrin'  a  puff  or 
two  av  life,  he  was  a  carpse  before  we  left  Jumrood. 
I've  a  great  mind,"  he  sez,  "to  confine  you." 

'  "There's  a  dale  av  liquor  runnin'  about,  docthor,"  I 
sez,  solemn  as  a  hard-boiled  egg.  "Maybe  'tis  so;  but 
will  ye  not  come  an'  see  the  carpse  at  the  house?" 

'  " 'Tis  dishgraceful,"  he  sez,  "that  I  would  be  ex- 
pected to  go  to  a  place  like  that.  Was  she  a  pretty 
woman?"  he  sez,  an'  at  that  he  set  off  double-quick. 

'  I  cud  see  that  the  two  was  in  the  veranda  where  I'd 
left  them,  an'  I  knew  by  the  hang  av  her  head  an'  the 
noise  av  the  crows  fwhat  had  happened.  'Twas  the 
first  and  the  last  time  that  I'd  iver  known  woman  to  use 
the  pistol.  They  fear  the  shot  as  a  rule,  but  Di'monds- 
an'-Pearls  she  did  not — she  did  not. 

'The  docthor  touched  the  long  black  hair  av  her  head 
('twas  all  loose  upon  Love-o'- Women's  tunic),  an'  that 
cleared  the  liquor  out  av  him.  He  stud  considherin'  a 
long  time,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  an'  at  last  he  sez  to 
me,  "Here's  a  double  death  from  naturil  causes,  most 
naturil  causes;  an'  in  the  present  state  av  affairs  the  rig'- 
mint  will  be  thankful  for  wan  grave  the  less  to  dig.  Is- 
siwasti,"  he  sez.  "Issiwasti,  Privit  Mulvaney,  these 
two  will  be  buried  together  in  the  Civil  Cemet'ry  at  my 
expinse;  an'  may  the  good  God,"  he  sez,  "make  it  so 
much  for  me  whin  my  time  comes.  Go  you  to  your 
wife,"  he  sez.     "Go  an'  be  happy.     I'll  see  to  this  all." 

*  I  left  him  still  considherin'.     They  was  buried  in  the 

266 


'LOVE-0 '-WOMEN' 

Civil  Cemet'ry  together,  wid  a  Church  av  England  ser- 
vice. There  was  too  many  buryin's  thin  to  ask  ques- 
tions, an'  the  docthor — he  ran  away  wid  Major — Major 
Van  Dyce's  lady  that  year — he  saw  to  ut  all.  Fwhat 
the  right  an'  the  wrong  av  Love-o'-Women  an'  Di'monds- 
an'-Pearls  was  I  niver  knew,  an'  I  will  niver  know;  but 
I've  tould  ut  as  I  came  acrost  ut — here  an  there  in  little 
pieces.  So,  being  fwhat  I  am,  an'  knowin'  fwhat  I  knew, 
that's  fwhy  I  say  in  this  shootin'-case  here,  Mackic 
that's  dead  an'  in  hell  is  the  lucky  man.  There  are 
times,  sorr,  whin'  tis  betther  for  the  man  to  die  than  to 
live,  an'  by  consequince  forty  million  times  betther  for 
the  woman.' 

'  H'up  there ! '  said  Ortheris.  '  It's  time  to  go.' 
The  witnesses  and  guard  formed  up  in  the  thick  white 
dust  of  the  parched  twilight  and  swung  off,  marching 
easy  and  whistling.  Down  the  road  to  the  green  by 
the  church  I  could  hear  Ortheris,  the  black  Book-lie 
still  uncleansed  on  his  lips,  setting,  with  a  fme  sense  of 
the  fitness  of  things,  the  shrill  quickstep  that  runs — 

'  Oh,  do  not  despise  the  advice  of  the  wise, 

Learn  wisdom  from  those  that  are  older. 
And  don't  try  for  things  that  are  out  of  your  reach — 
An'  that's  what  the  Girl  told  the  Soldier ! 

Soldier!  soldier! 
Oh,  that's  what  the  Girl  told  the  Soldier!' 


267 


THE  RFXORD  OF  BADALIA  HERODSFOOT 

(1890) 

The  year's  at  the  spring 
And  day's  at  the  dawn; 
Morning's  at  seven; 
The  hill-side's  dew-pearled; 
The  lark's  on  the  wing; 
The  snail's  on  the  thorn: 
God's  in  His  heaven — 
All's  right  with  the  world ! 

'Pippa  Passes.' 

THIS  is  not  that  Badalia  whose  spare  names  were 
Joanna,  Pugnacious,  and  M'Ganna,  as  the  song 
says,  but  another  and  a  much  nicer  lady. 
In  the  beginning  of  things  she  had  been  unregenerate ; 
had  worn  the  heavy  fluffy  fringe  which  is  the  ornament 
of  the  costermonger's  girl,  and  there  is  a  legend  in  Gun- 
nison Street  that  on  her  wedding-day  she,  a  flare-lamp 
in  either  hand,  danced  dances  on  a  discarded  lover's 
winkle-barrow,  till  a  policeman  interfered,  and  then 
Badalia  danced  with  the  Law  amid  shoutings.  Those 
were  her  days  of  fatness,  and  they  did  not  last  long,  for 
her  husband  after  two  years  took  to  himself  another 
woman,  and  passed  out  of  Badalia's  life,  over  Badalia's 
senseless  body;  for  he  stifled  protest  with  blows.     While 

268 


THE  RECORD  OF  BADALIA  HERODSFOOT 

she  was  enjoying  her  widowhood  the  baby  that  the  hus- 
band had  not  taken  away  died  of  croup,  and  BadaUa 
was  altogether  alone.  With  rare  fidelity  she  listened  to 
no  proposals  for  a  second  marriage  according  to  the  cus- 
toms of  Gunnison  Street,  which  do  not  differ  from  those 
of  the  Barralong.  'My  man,'  she  explained  to  her 
suitors,  '  'e'll  come  back  one  o'  these  days,  an'  then,  like 
as  not,  'e'll  take  an'  kill  me  if  I  was  livin'  'long  o'  you. 
You  don't  know  Tom;  I  do.  Now  you  go.  I  can  do  for 
myself — not  'avin'  a  kid.'  She  did  for  herself  with  a 
mangle,  some  tending  of  babies,  and  an  occasional  sale 
of  flowers.  This  latter  trade  is  one  that  needs  capital, 
and  takes  the  vendor  very  far  westward,  insomuch  that 
the  return  journey  from,  let  us  say,  the  Burlington  Ar- 
cade to  Gunnison  Street,  E.,  is  an  excuse  for  drink,  and 
then,  as  Badalia  pointed  out,  'You  come  'ome  with  your 
shawl  arf  off  of  your  back,  an'  your  bonnick  under  your 
arm,  and  the  price  of  nothing-at-all  in  your  pocket,  let 
alone  a  slop  takin'  care  o'  you.'  Badalia  did  not  drink, 
but  she  knew  her  sisterhood,  and  gave  them  rude  coun- 
sel. Otherwise  she  kept  herself  to  herself,  and  meditated 
a  great  deal  upon  Tom  Herodsfoot,  her  husband,  who 
would  come  back  some  day,  and  the  baby  who  would 
never  return.  In  what  manner  these  thoughts  wrought 
upon  her  mind  will  not  be  known. 

Her  entry  into  society  dates  from  the  night  when  she 
rose  literally  under  the  feet  of  the  Reverend  Eustace 
Hanna,  on  the  landing  of  No.  17  Gunnison  Street,  and 
told  him  that  he  was  a  fool  without  discernment  in  the 
dispensation  of  his  district  charities. 

'You  give  Lascar  Loo  custids,'  said  she,  without  the 
formality  of  introduction;  'give  her  pork-wine.  Garn! 
Give  'er  blankits.     Garn  'ome!     'Er  mother,  she  eats 

269 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

'em  all,  and  drinks  the  blankits.  Gits  'em  back  from 
the  shop,  she  does,  before  you  come  visiting  again,  so  as 
to  'ave  'em  all  handy  an'  proper;  an'  Lascar  Loo  she  sez 
to  you,  "Oh,  my  mother's  that  good  to  me!"  she  do. 
Lascar  Loo  'ad  better  talk  so,  bein'  sick  abed,  'r  else  'er 
mother  would  kill  'er.  Garn !  you're  a  bloomin'  gardener 
— you  an'  yer  custids !  Lascar  Loo  don't  never  smell  of 
'em  even.' 

Thereon  the  curate,  instead  of  being  offended,  recog- 
nised in  the  heavy  eyes  under  the  fringe  the  soul  of  a 
fellow-worker,  and  so  bade  Badalia  mount  guard  over 
Lascar  Loo,  when  the  next  jelly  or  custard  should  arrive, 
to  see  that  the  invalid  actually  ate  it.  This  Badalia  did, 
to  the  disgust  of  Lascar  Loo's  mother,  and  the  sharing 
of  a  black  eye  between  the  three;  but  Lascar  Loo  got  her 
custard,  and  coughing  heartily,  rather  enjoyed  the  fray. 

Later  on,  partly  through  the  Reverend  Eustace  Han- 
na's  swift  recognition  of  her  uses,  and  partly  through 
certain  tales  poured  out  with  moist  eyes  and  flushed 
cheeks  by  Sister  Eva,  youngest  and  most  impressionable 
of  the  Little  Sisters  of  the  Red  Diamond,  it  came  to  pass 
that  Badalia,  arrogant,  fluffy-fringed,  and  perfectly  un- 
licensed in  speech,  won  a  recognised  place  among  such  as 
labour  in  Gunnison  Street. 

These  were  a  mixed  corps,  zealous  or  hysterical,  faint- 
hearted or  only  very  wearied  of  battle  against  misery, 
according  to  their  lights.  The  most  part  were  consumed 
with  small  rivalries  and  personal  jealousies,  to  be  re- 
tailed confidentially  to  their  own  tiny  cliques  in  the 
pauses  between  wrestling  with  death  for  the  body  of  a 
moribund  laundress,  or  scheming  for  further  mission- 
grants  to  resole  a  consumptive  compositor's  very  con- 
sumptive boots.    There  was  a  rector  that  lived  in  dread 

270 


THE  RECORD  OF  BADALIA  HERODSFOOT 

of  pauperising  the  poor,  would  fain  have  held  bazars  for 
fresh  altar-cloths,  and  prayed  in  secret  for  a  large  new 
brass  bird,  with  eyes  of  red  glass,  fondly  believed  to  be 
carbuncles.  There  was  Brother  Victor,  of  the  Order  of 
Little  Ease,  who  knew  a  great  deal  about  altar-cloths, 
but  kept  his  knowledge  in  the  background  while  he 
strove  to  propitiate  Mrs.  Jessel,  the  Secretary  of  the 
Tea  Cup  Board,  who  had  money  to  dispense,  but  hated 
Rome — even  though  Rome  would,  on  its  honour,  do  no 
more  than  fill  the  stomach,  leaving  the  dazed  soul  to  the 
mercies  of  Mrs.  Jessel.  There  were  all  the  Little  Sisters 
of  the  Red  Diamond,  daughters  of  the  horseleech,  cry- 
ing 'Give'  when  their  own  charity  was  exhausted,  and 
pitifully  explaining  to  such  as  demanded  an  account  of 
their  disbursements  in  return  for  one  half-sovereign, 
that  relief-work  in  a  bad  district  can  hardly  be  system- 
atised  on  the  accounts  side  without  expensive  duplica- 
tion of  staff.  There  was  the  Reverend  Eustace  Hanna, 
who  worked  impartially  with  Ladies'  Committees,  An- 
drogynous Leagues  and  Guilds,  Brother  Victor,  and  any- 
body else  who  could  give  him  money,  boots,  or  blankets, 
or  that  more  precious  help  that  allows  itself  to  be  di- 
rected by  those  who  know.  And  all  these  people  learned, 
one  by  one,  to  consult  Badalia  on  matters  of  personal 
character,  right  to  relief,  and  hope  of  eventual  reforma- 
tion in  Gunnison  Street.  Her  answers  were  seldom 
cheering,  but  she  possessed  special  knowledge  and  com- 
plete confidence  in  herself. 

'I'm  Gunnison  Street,'  she  said  to  the  austere  Mrs. 
Jessel.  'I  know  what's  what,  I  do,  an'  they  don't  want 
your  religion,  Mum,  not  a  single — .  Excuse  me.  It's 
all  right  when  they  comes  to  die,  Mum,  but  till  they  die 
what  they  wants  is  things  to  eat.     The  men  they'll  shif ' 

271 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

for  themselves.  That's  why  Nick  Lapworth  sez  to  you 
that  'e  wants  to  be  confirmed  an'  all  that.  'E  won't 
never  lead  no  new  life,  nor  'is  wife  won't  get  no  good  out 
o'  all  the  money  you  gives  'im.  No  more  you  can't 
pauperise  them  as  'asn't  things  to  begin  with.  They're 
bloomin'  well  pauped.  The  women  they  can't  shif 
for  themselves — 'specially  bein'  always  confined.  'Ow 
should  they?  They  wants  things  if  they  can  get  'em 
anyways.  If  not  they  dies,  and  a  good  job  too,  for 
women  is  cruel  put  upon  in  Gunnison  Street.' 

'Do  you  believe  that — that  Mrs.  Herodsfoot  is  alto- 
gether a  proper  person  to  trust  funds  to?'  said  Mrs.  Jes- 
sel  to  the  curate  after  this  conversation.  'She  seems  to 
be  utterly  godless  in  her  speech  at  least.' 

The  curate  agreed.  She  was  godless  according  to  Mrs. 
Jessel's  views,  but  did  not  Mrs.  Jessel  think  that  since 
Badalia  knew  Gunnison  Street  and  its  needs,  as  none 
other  knew  it,  she  might  in  a  humble  way  be,  as  it  were, 
the  scullion  of  charity  from  purer  .sources,  and  that 
if,  say,  the  Tea  Cup  Board  could  give  a  few  shillings  a 
week,  and  the  Little  Sisters  of  the  Red  Diamond  a  few 
more,  and,  yes,  he  himself  could  raise  yet  a  few  more, 
the  total,  not  at  all  likely  to  be  excessive,  might  be 
handed  over  to  Badalia  to  dispense  among  her  associates. 
Thus  Mrs.  Jessel  herself  would  be  set  free  to  attend 
more  directly  to  the  spiritual  wants  of  certain  large- 
limbed  hulking  men  who  sat  picturesquely  on  the  lower 
benches  of  her  gatherings  and  sought  for  truth — which 
is  quite  as  precious  as  silver,  when  you  know  the  market 
for  it. 

'  She'll  favour  her  own  friends,'  said  Mrs.  Jessel.  The 
curate  refrained  from  mirth,  and,  after  wise  flattery, 
carried  his  point.    To  her  unbounded  pride  Badalia  was 

272 


THE  RECORD  OF  BADALIA  HERODSFOOT 

appointed  the  dispenser  of  a  grant — a  weekly  trust,  to  be 
held  for  the  benefit  of  Gunnison  Street. 

'I  don't  know  what  we  can  get  together  each  week,' 
said  the  curate  to  her.  '  But  here  are  seventeen  shillings 
to  start  with.  You  do  what  you  like  with  them  among 
your  people,  only  let  me  know  how  it  goes  so  that  we 
shan't  get  muddled  in  the  accounts.     D'you  see? ' 

'Ho  yuss!  'Tain't  much  though,  is  it?'  said  Badalia, 
regarding  the  white  coins  in  her  palm.  The  sacred  fever 
of  the  administrator,  only  known  to  those  who  have 
tasted  power,  burned  in  her  veins.  'Boots  is  boots,  un- 
less they're  give  you,  an'  then  they  ain't  fit  to  wear  un- 
less they're  mended  top  an'  bottom;  an'  jellies  is  jellies; 
an'  I  don't  think  anything  o'  that  cheap  pork-wine,  but 
it  all  comes  to  something.  It'll  go  quicker  'n  a  quartern 
of  gin — seventeen  bob.  An'  I'll  keep  a  book — same  as  I 
used  to  do  before  Tom  went  an'  took  up  'long  o'  that 
pan-faced  slut  in  Hennessy's  Rents.  We  was  the  only 
barrer  that  kep'  regular  books,  me  an' — 'im.' 

She  bought  a  large  copy-book — her  unschooled  hand- 
writing demanded  room — and  in  it  she  wrote  the  story 
of  her  war;  boldly,  as  befits  a  general,  and  for  no  other 
eyes  than  her  own  and  those  of  the  Reverend  Eustace 
Hanna.  Long  ere  the  pages  were  full  the  mottled  cover 
had  been  soaked  in  kerosene — Lascar  Loo's  mother, 
defrauded  of  her  percentage  on  her  daughter's  custards, 
invaded  Badalia's  room  in  17  Gunnison  Street,  and 
fought  with  her  to  the  damage  of  the  lamp  and  her  own 
hair.  It  was  hard,  too,  to  carry  the  precious  '  pork-wine' 
in  one  hand  and  the  book  in  the  other  through  an  eter- 
nally thirsty  land;  so  red  stains  were  added  to  those  of 
the  oil.  But  the  Reverend  Eustace  Hanna,  looking  at 
the  matter  of  the  book,  never  objected.     The  generous 

273 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

scrawls  told  their  own  tale,  Badalia  every  Saturday 
night  supplying  the  chorus  between  the  written  state- 
ments thus: — ■ 

'Mrs.  Hikkey,  very  ill  brandy  3d.  Cab  for  hospital, 
she  had  to  go,  Is.  Mrs.  Poone  confined.  In  money  for 
tea  (she  took  it  I  know,  sir)  6d.  Met  her  husband  out 
looking  for  work.' 

'I  slapped  'is  face  for  a  bone-idle  beggar!  'E  won't 
get  no  work  becos  'e's — excuse  me,  sir.  Won't  you  go 
on?'     The  curate  continued — 

'  Mrs.  Vincent.  Confid.  No  linning  for  baby.  Most 
untidy.  In  money  2s.  6d.  Some  cloths  from  Miss 
Evva.' 

'Did  Sister  Eva  do  that?'  said  the  curate  very  softly. 
Now  charity  was  Sister  Eva's  bounden  duty,  yet  to  one 
man's  eyes  each  act  of  her  daily  toil  was  a  manifestation 
of  angelic  grace  and  goodness — a  thing  to  perpetually 
admire. 

'Yes,  sir.  She  went  back  to  the  Sisters'  'Ome  an' 
took  'em  off  'er  own  bed.  Most  beautiful  marked  too. 
Go  on,  sir.     That  makes  up  four  and  thruppence.' 

'  Mrs.  Junnet  to  keep  good  fire  coals  is  up.     7d. 

'Mrs.  Lockhart  took  a  baby  to  nurse  to  earn  a  triffle 
but  mother  can'd  pay  husband  summons  over  and  over. 
He  won't  help.  Cash  2s.  2d.  Worked  in  a  ketchin  but 
had  to  leave.     Fire,  tea,  and  shin  of  beef  Is.  TJd.' 

*  There  was  a  fight  there,  sir,'  said  Badalia.  '  Not  me, 
sir.  'Er  'usband,  o'  course  'e  come  in  at  the  wrong 
time,  was  wishful  to  'ave  the  beef,  so  I  calls  up  the  next 
floor  an'  down  comes  that  mulatter  man  wot  sells  the 
sword-stick  canes,  top  o'  Ludgate-'ill.  "Muley,"  sez  I, 
"you  big  black  beast,  you,  take  an'  kill  this  big  white 
beast  'ere."     I  knew  I  couldn't  stop  Tom  Lockart  'alf 

274 


THE  RECORD  OF  BADALIA  HERODSFOOT 

drunk,  with  the  beef  in  'is  'ands.  "I'll  beef  'm,"  sez 
Muley,  an'  'e  did  it,  with  that  pore  woman  a-cryin'  in 
the  next  room,  an'  the  top  banisters  on  that  landin'  is 
broke  out,  but  she  got  'er  beef-tea,  an'  Tom  'e's  got  'is 
gruel.     Will  you  go  on,  sir? ' 

'No,  I  think  it  will  be  all  right.  I'll  sign  for  the  week,' 
said  the  curate.  One  gets  so  used  to  these  things  pro- 
fanely called  human  documents. 

'Mrs.  Churner's  baby's  got  diptheery,'  said  Badalia, 
turning  to  go. 

'Where's  that?  The  Churners  of  Painter's  Alley,  or 
the  other  Churners  in  Houghton  Street?' 

'Houghton  Street.  The  Painter's  Alley  people,  they're 
sold  out  an'  left.' 

'Sister  Eva's  sitting  one  night  a  week  with  old  Mrs. 
Probyn  in  Houghton  Street — isn't  she?'  said  the  curate 
uneasily. 

'Yes;  but  she  won't  sit  no  longer.  I've  took  up  Mrs. 
Probyn.  I  can't  talk  'er  no  religion,  but  she  don't  want 
it;  an'  Miss  Eva  she  don't  want  no  diptheery,  tho'  she 
says  she  does.     Don't  you  be  afraid  for  Miss  Eva.' 

'But — but  you'll  get  it,  perhaps.' 

'Like  as  not.'  She  looked  the  curate  between  the 
eyes,  and  her  own  eyes  flamed  under  the  fringe.  '  May- 
be I'd  like  to  get  it,  for  aught  you  know.' 

The  curate  thought  upon  these  words  for  a  little  time 
till  he  began  to  think  of  Sister  Eva  in  the  gray  cloak  with 
the  white  bonnet  ribbons  under  the  chin.  Then  he 
thought  no  more  of  Badalia. 

What  Badalia  thought  was  never  expressed  in  words, 
but  it  is  known  in  Gunnison  Street  that  Lascar  Loo's 
mother,  sitting  blind  drunk  on  her  own  doorstep,  was 
that  night  captured  and  wrapped  up  in  the  war-cloud  of 

275 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Badalia's  wrath,  so  that  she  did  not  know  whether  she 
stood  on  her  head  or  her  heels,  and  after  being  soundly 
bumped  on  every  particular  stair  up  to  her  room,  was 
set  down  on  Badalia's  bed,  there  to  whimper  and  quiver 
till  the  dawn,  protesting  that  all  the  world  was  against 
her,  and  calling  on  the  names  of  children  long  since  slain 
by  dirt  and  neglect.  Badalia,  snorting,  w^ent  out  to  war, 
and  since  the  hosts  of  the  enemy  were  many,  found 
enough  work  to  keep  her  busy  till  the  dawn. 

As  she  had  promised,  she  took  Mrs.  Probyn  into  her 
own  care,  and  began  by  nearly  startling  the  old  lady  into 
a  fit  with  the  announcement  that  'there  ain't  no  God 
like  as  not,  an'  if  there  is  it  don't  matter  to  you  or  me, 
an'  any'ow  you  take  this  jelly.'  Sister  Eva  objected  to 
being  shut  off  from  her  pious  work  in  Houghton  Street, 
but  Badalia  insisted,  and  by  fair  words  and  the  promise 
of  favours  to  come  so  prevailed  on  three  or  four  of  the 
more  sober  men  of  the  neighbourhood,  that  they  block- 
aded the  door  whenever  Sister  Eva  attempted  to  force 
an  entry,  and  pleaded  the  diphtheria  as  an  excuse. 
'I've  got  to  keep  'er  out  'o  'arm's  way,'  said  Badalia, 
*  an'  out  she  keeps.  The  curick  won't  care  a — for  me, 
but — he  wouldn't  any'ow.' 

The  effect  of  that  quarantine  was  to  shift  the  sphere 
of  Sister  Eva's  activity  to  other  streets,  and  notably 
those  most  haunted  by  the  Reverend  Eustace  Hanna 
and  Brother  Victor,  of  the  Order  of  Little  Ease.  There 
exists,  for  all  their  human  bickerings,  a  very  close  broth- 
erhood in  the  ranks  of  those  whose  work  lies  in  Gunni- 
son Street.  To  begin  with,  they  have  seen  pain — pain 
that  no  word  or  deed  of  theirs  can  alleviate — life  born 
into  Death,  and  Death  crowded  down  by  unhappy  life. 
Also  they  understand  the  full  significance  of  drink,  which 

276 


THE  RECORD  OF  BADALIA  HERODSFOOT 

is  a  knowledge  hidden  from  very  many  well-meaning 
people,  and  some  of  them  have  fought  with  the  beasts  at 
Ephesus.  They  meet  at  unseemly  hours  in  unseemly 
places,  exchange  a  word  or  two  of  hasty  counsel,  advice, 
or  suggestion,  and  pass  on  to  their  appointed  toil,  since 
time  is  precious  and  lives  hang  in  the  balance  of  five 
minutes.  For  many,  the  gas-lamps  are  their  sun,  and 
the  Covent  Garden  wains  the  chariots  of  the  twilight. 
They  have  all  in  their  station  begged  for  money,  so  that 
the  freemasonry  of  the  mendicant  binds  them  together. 
To  all  these  influences  there  was  added  in  the  case  of 
two  workers  that  thing  which  men  have  agreed  to  call 
Love.  The  chance  that  Sister  Eva  might  catch  diph- 
theria did  not  enter  into  the  curate's  head  till  Badalia 
had  spoken.  Then  it  seemed  a  thing  intolerable  and 
monstrous  that  she  should  be  exposed  not  only  to  this 
risk,  but  any  accident  whatever  of  the  streets.  A  wain 
coming  round  a  corner  might  kill  her;  the  rotten  stair- 
cases on  which  she  trod  daily  and  nightly  might  collapse 
and  maim  her;  there  was  danger  in  the  tottering  coping- 
stones  of  certain  crazy  houses  that  he  knew  well;  danger 
more  deadly  within  those  houses.  What  if  one  of  a 
thousand  drunken  men  crushed  out  that  precious  life? 
A  woman  had  once  flung  a  chair  at  the  curate's  head. 
Sister  Eva's  arm  would  not  be  strong  enough  to  ward 
off  a  chair.  There  were  also  knives  that  were  quick  to 
fly.  These  and  other  considerations  cast  the  soul  of  the 
Reverend  Eustace  Hanna  into  torment  that  no  leaning 
upon  Providence  could  relieve.  God  was  indubitably 
great  and  terrible — one  had  only  to  walk  through  Gunni- 
son Street  to  see  that  much — but  it  would  be  better, 
vastly  better,  that  Eva  should  have  the  protection  of 
his  own  arm.     And  the  world  that  was  not  too  busy  to 

277 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

watch  might  have  seen  a  woman,  not  too  young,  Hght- 
haired  and  light-eyed,  sHghtly  assertive  in  her  speech, 
and  very  Hmited  in  such  ideas  as  lay  beyond  the  imme- 
diate sphere  of  her  duty,  where  the  eyes  of  the  Reverend 
Eustace  Hanna  turned  to  follow  the  footsteps  of  a  Queen 
crowned  in  a  little  gray  bonnet  with  white  ribbons  under 
the  chin. 

If  that  bonnet  appeared  for  a  moment  at  the  bottom 
of  a  courtyard,  or  nodded  at  him  on  a  dark  staircase, 
then  there  was  hope  yet  for  Lascar  Loo,  living  on  one 
lung  and  the  memory  of  past  excesses,  hope  even  for 
whining  sodden  Nick  Lapworth,  blaspheming,  in  the 
hope  of  money,  over  the  pangs  of  a  '  true  conversion  this 
time,  s'elp  me  Gawd,  sir.'  If  that  bonnet  did  not  ap- 
pear for  a  day,  the  mind  of  the  curate  was  filled  with 
lively  pictures  of  horror,  visions  of  stretchers,  a  crowd 
at  some  villainous  crossing,  and  a  policeman — he  could 
see  that  policeman — jerking  out  over  his  shoulder  the 
details  of  the  accident,  and  ordering  the  man  who  would 
have  set  his  body  against  the  wheels — heavy  dray  wheels, 
he  could  see  them — to  'move  on.'  Then  there  was  less 
hope  for  the  salvation  of  Gunnison  Street  and  all  in  it. 

This  agony  Brother  Victor  beheld  one  day  when  he 
was  coming  from  a  death-bed.  He  saw  the  light  in  the 
eye,  the  relaxing  muscles  of  the  mouth,  and  heard  a  new 
ring  in  the  voice  that  had  told  flat  all  the  forenoon. 
Sister  Eva  had  turned  into  Gunnison  Street  after  a  forty- 
eight  hours'  eternity  of  absence.  She  had  not  been  run 
over.  Brother  Victor's  heart  must  have  suffered  in  some 
human  fashion,  or  he  would  never  have  seen  what  he 
saw.  But  the  Law  of  his  Church  made  suffering  easy. 
His  duty  was  to  go  on  with  his  work  until  he  died,  even 
as  Badalia  went  on.     She,  magnifying  her  office,  faced 

278 


THE  RECORD  OF  BADALIA  HERODSFOOT 

the  drunken  husband;  coaxed  the  doubly  shiftless,  thrift- 
less girl-wife  into  a  little  forethought,  and  begged  clothes 
when  and  where  she  could  for  the  scrofulous  babes  that 
multiplied  like  the  green  scum  on  the  untopped  water- 
cisterns. 

The  story  of  her  deeds  was  written  in  the  book  that 
the  curate  signed  weekly,  but  she  never  told  him  any 
more  of  fights  and  tumults  in  the  street.  'Mis'  Eva 
does  'er  work  'er  way.  I  does  mine  mine.  But  I  do 
more  than  Mis'  Eva  ten  times  over,  an'  "Thank  yer, 
Badalia,"  sez  'e,  "that'll  do  for  this  week."  I  wonder 
what  Tom's  doin'  now  long  o'  that — other  woman. 
'Seems  like  as  if  I'd  go  an'  look  at  'im  one  o'  these  days. 
But  I'd  cut  'er  liver  out — couldn't  'elp  myself.  Better 
not  go,  p'raps.' 

Hennessy's  Rents  lay  more  than  two  miles  from  Gun- 
nison Street,  and  were  inhabited  by  much  the  same  class 
of  people.  Tom  had  established  himself  there  with 
Jenny  Wabstow,  his  new  woman,  and  for  weeks  lived  in 
great  fear  of  Badalia's  suddenly  descending  upon  him. 
The  prospect  of  actual  fighting  did  not  scare  him;  but 
he  objected  to  the  police-court  that  would  follow,  and 
the  orders  for  maintenance  and  other  devices  of  a  law 
that  cannot  understand  the  simple  rule  that  'when  a 
man's  tired  of  a  woman  'e  ain't  such  a  bloomin'  fool  as 
to  live  with  'er  no  more,  an'  that's  the  long  an'  short  of 
it.'  For  some  months  his  new  wife  wore  very  well,  and 
kept  Tom  in  a  state  of  decent  fear  and  consequent  order- 
liness. Also  work  was  plentiful.  Then  a  baby  was 
born,  and,  following  the  law  of  his  kind,  Tom,  little  in- 
terested in  the  children  he  helped  to  produce,  sought  dis- 
traction in  drink.  He  had  confined  himself,  as  a  rule, 
to  beer,  which  is  stupefying  and  comparatively  innocu- 

279 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

ous:  at  least,  it  clogs  the  legs,  and  though  the  heart  may 
ardently  desire  to  kill,  sleep  comes  swiftly,  and  the 
crime  often  remains  undone.  Spirits,  being  more  vola- 
tile, allow  both  the  flesh  and  the  soul  to  work  together — 
generally  to  the  inconvenience  of  others.  Tom  discov- 
ered that  there  was  merit  in  whisky — if  you  only  took 
enough  of  it — cold.  He  took  as  much  as  he  could  pur- 
chase or  get  given  him,  and  by  the  time  that  his  woman 
was  fit  to  go  abroad  again,  the  two  rooms  of  their  house- 
hold were  stripped  of  many  valuable  articles.  Then 
the  woman  spoke  her  mind,  not  once,  but  several  times, 
with  point,  fluency  and  metaphor;  and  Tom  was  in- 
dignant at  being  deprived  of  peace  at  the  end  of  his 
day's  work,  which  included  much  whisky.  He  therefore 
withdrew  himself  from  the  solace  and  companionship  of 
Jenny  Wabstow,  and  she  therefore  pursued  him  with 
more  metaphors.  At  the  last,  Tom  would  turn  round 
and  hit  her — sometimes  across  the  head,  and  sometimes 
across  the  breast,  and  the  bruises  furnished  material  for 
discussion  on  doorsteps  among  such  women  as  had  been 
treated  in  like  manner  by  their  husbands.  They  were 
not  few. 

But  no  very  public  scandal  had  occurred  till  Tom  one 
day  saw  fit  to  open  negotiations  with  a  young  woman  for 
matrimony  according  to  the  laws  of  free  selection.  He 
was  getting  very  tired  of  Jenny,  and  the  young  woman 
was  earning  enough  from  flower-selling  to  keep  him  in 
comfort,  whereas  Jenny  was  expecting  another  baby, 
and  most  unreasonably  expected  consideration  on  this 
account.  The  shapelessness  of  her  figure  revolted  him, 
and  he  said  as  much  in  the  language  of  his  breed .  Jenny 
cried  till  Mrs.  Hart,  lineal  descendant,  and  Irish  of  the 
*  mother  to  Mike  of  the  donkey-cart,'  stopped  her  on  her 

280 


THE  RECORD  OF  BADALIA  HERODSFOOT 

own  staircase  and  whispered:  'God  be  good  to  you, 
Jenny,  my  woman,  for  I  see  how  'tis  with  you.'  Jenny 
wept  more  than  ever,  and  gave  Mrs.  Hart  a  penny  and 
some  kisses,  while  Tom  was  conducting  his  own  wooing 
at  the  corner  of  the  street. 

The  young  woman,  prompted  by  pride,  not  by  virtue, 
told  Jenny  of  his  offers,  and  Jenny  spoke  to  Tom  that 
night.  The  altercation  began  in  their  own  rooms,  but 
Tom  tried  to  escape;  and  in  the  end  all  Hennessy's  Rents 
gathered  themselves  upon  the  pavement  and  formed  a 
court  to  which  Jenny  appealed  from  time  to  time,  her 
hair  loose  on  her  neck,  her  raiment  in  extreme  disorder, 
and  her  steps  astray  from  drink.  'When  your  man 
drinks,  you'd  better  drink  too!  It  don't  'urt  so  much 
when  'e  'its  you  then,'  says  the  Wisdom  of  the  W^omen. 
And  surely  they  ought  to  know. 

'Look  at  'im!'  shrieked  Jenny.  'Look  at  'im,  stand- 
in'  there  without  any  word  to  say  for  himself,  that  'ud 
smitch  off  and  leave  me  an'  never  so  much  as  a  shillin' 
lef  be'ind!  You  call  yourself  a  man — you  call  yourself 
the  bleedin'  shadow  of  a  man?  I've  seen  better  men 
than  you  made  outer  chewed  paper  and  spat  out  arter- 
wards.  Look  at  'im!  'E's  been  drunk  since  Thursday 
last,  an'  'e'll  be  drunk  s'  long's  'e  can  get  drink.  'E's 
took  all  I've  got,  an'  me — an'  me — as  you  see — ' 

A  murmur  of  sympathy  from  the  women. 

'Took  it  all,  he  did,  an'  atop  of  his  blasted  pickin'  an' 
stealin' — yes,  you,  you  thief — 'e  goes  off  an'  tries  to  take 
up  long  o'  that' — here  followed  a  complete  and  minute 
description  of  the  young  woman.  Luckily,  she  was  not 
on  the  spot  to  hear.  '  'E'll  serve  'er  as  'e  served  me! 
'E'll  drink  every  bloomin'  copper  she  makes  an'  then 
leave  'er  alone,  same  as  'e  done  me!     0  women,  look 

281 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

you,  I've  bore  'im  one  an'  there's  another  on  the  way, 
an'  'e'd  up  an'  leave  me  as  I  am  now — the  stinkin'  dorg. 
An'  you  mxay  leave  me.  I  don't  want  none  o'  your 
leavin's.  Go  away.  Get  away!'  The  hoarseness  of 
passion  overpowered  the  voice.  The  crowd  attracted  a 
policeman  as  Tom  began  to  slink  away. 

'  Look  at  'im,'  said  Jenny,  grateful  for  the  new  listener. 
'Ain't  there  no  law  for  such  as  'im?  'E's  took  all  my 
money,  'e's  beat  me  once,  twice  an'  over.  'E's  swine 
drunk  when  'e  ain't  mad  drunk,  an'  now,  an'  now  'e's 
trying  to  pick  up  along  o'  another  woman.  'Im  I  give 
up  a  four  times  better  man  for.     Ain't  there  no  law? ' 

'What's  the  matter  now?  You  go  into  your  'ouse. 
I'll  see  to  the  man.  'As  'e  been  'itting  you?'  said  the 
policeman. 

'  'Ittin'  me?  'E's  cut  my  'eart  in  two,  an'  'e  stands 
there  grinnin'  as  tho'  'twas  all  a  play  to  'im.' 

'You  go  on  into  your  'ouse  an'  lie  down  a  bit.' 

'I'm  a  married  woman,  I  tell  you,  an'  I'll  'ave  my 
'usband!' 

'I  ain't  done  her  no  bloomin'  'arm,'  said  Tom  from 
the  edge  of  the  crowd.  He  felt  that  public  opinion  was 
running  against  him. 

'You  ain't  done  me  any  bloomin'  good,  you  dorg. 
I'm  a  married  woman,  I  am,  an'  I  won't  'ave  my  'us- 
band took  from  me.' 

'Well,  if  you  are  a  married  woman,  cover  your  breasts,' 
said  the  policeman  soothingly.  He  was  used  to  domes- 
tic brawls. 

'  Shan't — thank  you  for  your  impidence.  Look  'ere ! ' 
She  tore  open  her  dishevelled  bodice  and  showed  such 
crescent-shaped  bruises  as  are  made  by  a  well-applied 
chair-back.     'That's  what  'e  done  to  me  acause  my 

282 


THE  RECORD  OF  BADALIA  HERODSFOOT 

heart  wouldn't  break  quick  enough!  'E's  tried  to  get 
in  an'  break  it.  Look  at  that,  Tom,  that  you  gave  me 
last  night;  an'  I  made  it  up  with  you.  But  that  was 
before  I  knew  what  you  were  tryin'  to  do  long  o'  that 
woman — ' 

*D'you  charge  'im?'  said  the  policeman.  '  'E'll  get  a 
month  for  it,  per'aps.' 

*No,'  said  Jenny  firmly.  It  was  one  thing  to  expose 
her  man  to  the  scorn  of  the  street,  and  another  to  lead 
him  to  jail. 

*Then  you  go  in  an'  lie  down,  and  you' — this  to  the 
crowd — 'pass  along  the  pavement,  there.  Pass  along. 
'Tain't  nothing  to  laugh  at.'  To  Tom,  who  was  being 
sympathised  with  by  his  friends,  '  It's  good  for  you  she 
didn't  charge  you,  but  mind  this  now,  the  next  time,' 
etc. 

Tom  did  not  at  all  appreciate  Jenny's  forbearance, 
nor  did  his  friends  help  to  compose  his  mind.  He  had 
whacked  the  woman  because  she  was  a  nuisance.  For 
precisely  the  same  reason  he  had  cast  about  for  a  new 
mate.  And  all  his  kind  acts  had  ended  in  a  truly  pain- 
ful scene  in  the  street,  a  most  unjustifiable  exposure  by 
and  of  his  woman,  and  a  certain  loss  of  caste — this  he 
realised  dimly — among  his  associates.  Consequently, 
all  women  were  nuisances,  and  consequently  whisky  was 
a  good  thing.  His  friends  condoled  with  him.  Perhaps 
he  had  been  more  hard  on  his  woman  than  she  deserved, 
but  her  disgraceful  conduct  under  provocation  excused 
all  offence. 

*I  wouldn't  'ave  no  more  to  do  with  'er — a  woman 
like  that  there,'  said  one  comforter. 

*  Let  'er  go  an'  dig  for  her  bloomin'  self.  A  man  wears 
'isself  out  to  'is  bones  shovin'  meat  down  their  mouths, 

283 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

while  they  sit  at  'ome  easy  all  day;  an'  the  very  fust 
time,  mark  you,  you  'as  a  bit  of  a  difference,  an'  very 
proper  too  for  a  man  as  is  a  man,  she  ups  an'  'as  you  out 
into  the  street,  callin'  you  Gawd  knows  what  all.  What's 
the  good  o'  that,  I  arx  you?'  So  spoke  the  second  com- 
forter. 

The  whisky  was  the  third,  and  his  suggestion  struck 
Tom  as  the  best  of  all.  He  would  return  to  Badalia,  his 
wife.  Probably  she  would  have  been  doing  something 
wrong  while  he  had  been  away,  and  he  could  then  vindi- 
cate his  authority  as  a  husband.  Certainly  she  would 
have  money.  Single  women  always  seemed  to  possess 
the  pence  that  God  and  the  Government  denied  to  hard- 
working men.  He  refreshed  himself  with  more  whisky. 
It  was  beyond  any  doubt  that  Badalia  would  have  done 
something  wrong.  She  might  even  have  married  an- 
other man.  He  would  wait  till  the  new  husband  was 
out  of  the  way,  and,  after  kicking  Badalia,  would  get 
money  and  a  long  absent  sense  of  satisfaction.  There 
is  much  virtue  in  a  creed  or  a  law,  but  when  all  is  prayed 
and  suffered,  drink  is  the  only  thing  that  will  make  clean 
all  a  man's  deeds  in  his  own  eyes.  Pity  it  is  that  the 
effects  are  not  permanent. 

Tom  parted  with  his  friends,  bidding  them  tell  Jenny 
that  he  was  going  to  Gunnison  Street,  and  would  return 
to  her  arms  no  more.  Because  this  was  the  devil's  mes- 
sage, they  remembered  and  severally  delivered  it,  with 
drunken  distinctness,  in  Jenny's  ears.  Then  Tom  took 
more  drink  till  his  drunkenness  rolled  back  and  stood 
off  from  him  as  a  wave  rolls  back  and  stands  off  the 
wreck  it  will  swamp.  He  reached  the  trafTic-polished 
black  asphalte  of  a  side-street  and  trod  warily  among 
the  reflections  of  the  shop-lamps  that  burned  in  gulfs  of 

284 


THE  RECORD  OF  BADALIA  HERODSFOOT 

pitchy  darkness,  fathoms  beneath  his  boot-heels.  He 
was  very  sober  indeed.  Looking  down  his  past,  he  be- 
held that  he  was  justified  of  all  his  actions  so  entirely 
and  perfectly  that  if  Badalia  had  in  his  absence  dared  to 
lead  a  blameless  life  he  would  smash  her  for  not  having 
gone  wrong. 

Badalia  at  that  moment  was  in  her  own  room  aftei 
the  regular  nightly  skirmish  with  Lascar  Loo's  mothei-. 
To  a  reproof  as  stinging  as  a  Gunnison  Street  tongue 
could  make  it,  the  old  woman,  detected  for  the  hun- 
dredth time  in  the  theft  of  the  poor  delicacies  meant  for 
the  invalid,  could  only  cackle  and  answer— 

'D'you  think  Loo's  never  bilked  a  man  in  'er  life? 
She's  dyin'  now— on'y  she's  so  cunning  long  about  it. 
Me !     I'll  live  for  twenty  years  yet.' 

Badalia  shook  her,  more  on  principle  than  in  any  hope 
of  curing  her,  and  thrust  her  into  the  night,  where  she 
collapsed  on  the  pavement  and  called  upon  the  devil  to 
slay  Badalia. 

He  came  upon  the  word  in  the  shape  of  a  man  with  a 
very  pale  face  who  asked  for  her  by  name.  Lascar 
Loo's  mother  remembered.  It  was  Badalia's  husband 
— and  the  return  of  a  husband  to  Gunnison  Street  was 
generally  followed  by  beatings. 

'  Where's  my  wife? '  said  Tom.  '  Where's  my  slut  of  a 
wife?' 

'Upstairs  an'  be — to  her,'  said  the  old  woman,  falling 
over  on  her  side.     '  'Ave  you  come  back  for  'er,  Tom?' 

'  Yes.     'Oo's  she  took  up  while  I  bin  gone? ' 

'All  the  bloomin'  curicks  in  the  parish.  She's  that 
set  up  you  wouldn't  know  'er.' 

"Strewthsheis!' 

'  Oh,  yuss.     Mor'n  that,  she's  always  round  an'  about 

285 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

with  them  sniffin'  Sisters  of  Charity  an'  the  curick. 
Mor'n  that,  'e  gives  'er  money — pounds  an'  pounds  a 
week.  Been  keepin'  her  that  way  for  months,  'e  'as. 
No  wonder  you  wouldn't  'ave  nothin'  to  do  with  'er 
when  you  left.  An'  she  keeps  me  outer  the  food-stuff 
they  gets  for  me  lyin'  dyin'  out  'ere  like  a  dorg.  She's 
been  a  blazin'  bad  un  has  Badalia  since  you  lef'.' 

*Got  the  same  room  still,  'as  she?'  said  Tom,  striding 
over  Lascar  Loo's  mother,  who  was  picking  at  the  chinks 
between  the  pave-stones. 

*  Yes,  but  so  fine  you  wouldn't  know  it.' 

Tom  went  up  the  stairs  and  the  old  lady  chuckled. 
Tom  was  angry.  Badalia  would  not  be  able  to  bump 
people  for  some  time  to  come,  or  to  interfere  with  the 
heaven-appointed  distribution  of  custards. 

Badalia,  undressing  to  go  to  bed,  heard  feet  on  the 
stair  that  she  knew  well.  Ere  they  stopped  to  kick  at 
her  door  she  had,  in  her  own  fashion,  thought  over  very 
many  things. 

*  Tom's  back,'  she  said  to  herself.  'An'  I'm  glad 
.     .     .     spite  o'  the  curick  an'  everythink.' 

She  opened  the  door,  crying  his  name. 
The  man  pushed  her  aside. 

*  I  don't  want  none  o'  your  kissin's  an'  slaverin's.  I'm 
sick  of  'em,'  said  he. 

*  You  ain't  'ad  so  many  neither  to  make  you  sick  these 
two  years  past.' 

*  I've  'ad  better.     Got  any  money? ' 

*  On'y  a  little— orful  little.' 
'That's  a — lie,  an'  you  know  it.' 

*  'Taint — and,  oh  Tom,  what's  the  use  o'  talkin* money 
the  minute  you  come  back?  Didn't  you  like  Jenny?  I 
kjiowed  you  wouldn't.' 

286 


THE  RECORD  OF  BADALIA  HERODSFOOT 

'Shut  your  'ead.  Ain't  you  got  enough  to  make  a 
man  drunk  fair?' 

'  You  don't  want  bein'  made  more  drunk  any.  You're 
drunk  a'ready.     You  come  to  bed,  Tom.' 

'To  you?' 

'Ay,  to  me.     Ain't  I  nothin' — spite  o'  Jenny?' 

She  put  out  her  arms  as  she  spoke.  But  the  drink 
held  Tom  fast. 

'Not  for  me,'  said  he,  steadying  himself  against  the 
wall.  'Don't  I  know  'ow  you've  been  goin'  on  while  I 
was  away,  yah!' 

'Arsk  about!'  said  Badalia  indignantly,  drawing  her- 
self together.     '  'Oo  sez  anythink  agin  me  'ere? ' 

"Oo  sez?  Wy,  everybody.  I  ain't  come  back 
more'n  a  minute  fore  I  finds  you've  been  with  the  curick 
Gawd  knows  where.     Wot  curick  was  'e? ' 

'The  curick  that's  'ere  always,'  said  Badalia  hastily. 
She  was  thinking  of  anything  rather  than  the  Rev.  Eus- 
tace Hanna  at  that  moment.  Tom  sat  down  gravely 
in  the  only  chair  in  the  room.  Badalia  continued  her 
arrangements  for  going  to  bed. 

'  Pretty  thing  that,'  said  Tom,  'to  tell  your  own  lawful 
married  'usband — an'  I  guv  five  bob  for  the  weddin'- 
ring.  Curick  that's  'ere  always!  Cool  as  brass  you 
are.  Ain't  you  got  no  shame?  Ain't  'e  under  the  bed 
now?' 

*Tom,  you're  bleedin'  drunk.  I  ain't  done  nothin'  to 
be  'shamed  of.' 

*You!  You  don't  know  wot  shame  is.  But  I  ain't 
come  'ere  to  mess  with  you.  Give  me  wot  you've  got, 
an'  then  I'll  dress  you  down  an'  go  to  Jenny.' 

'  I  ain't  got  nothin'  'cept  some  coppers  an'  a  shillin'  or 
so.' 

287 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

*  Wot's  that  about  the  curick  keepin'  you  on  five  poun' 
a  week? ' 

"Oo  told  you  that?' 

'Lascar  Loo's  mother,  lyin'  on  the  pavemint  outside, 
an'  more  honest  than  you'll  ever  be.  Give  me  wot 
you've  got!' 

Badalia  passed  over  to  a  little  shell  pin-cushion  on  the 
mantelpiece,  drew  thence  four  shillings  and  threepence 
— the  lawful  earnings  of  her  trade — and  held  them  out 
to  the  man  who  was  rocking  in  his  chair  and  surveying 
the  room  with  wide-opened,  rolling  eyes. 

'That  ain't  five  poun','  said  he  drowsily. 

'I  ain't  got  no  more.  Take  it  an'  go — if  you  won't 
stay.' 

Tom  rose  slowly,  gripping  the  arms  of  the  chair. 
'Wot  about  the  curick's  money  that  'e  guv  you?'  said 
h.e.  'Lascar  Loo's  mother  told  me.  You  give  it  over 
to  me  now,  or  I'll  make  you.' 

'Lascar  Loo's  mother  don't  know  anything  about  it.' 

'  She  do,  an'  more  than  you  want  her  to  know.' 

'She  don't.  I've  bumped  the  'eart  out  of  'er,  and  I 
can't  give  you  the  money.  Anythin'  else  but  that, 
Tom,  an'  every  thin'  else  but  that,  Tom,  I'll  give  willin' 
and  true.  'Taint  my  money.  Won't  the  dollar  be 
enough?  That  money's  my  trust.  There's  a  book 
along  of  it  too.' 

'Your  trust?  Wot  are  you  doin'  with  any  trust  that 
your  'usband  don't  know  of?  You  an'  your  trust! 
Take  you  that ! ' 

Tom  stepped  towards  her  and  delivered  a  blow  of  the 
clenched  fist  across  the  mouth.  'Give  me  wot  you've 
got,'  said  he,  in  the  thick,  abstracted  voice  of  one  talking 
in  dreams. 

288 


THE  RECORD  OE  BADALIA  IIERODSFOOT 

'I  won't,'  said  Badalia,  staggering  to  the  washstand. 
With  any  other  man  than  her  husband  she  would  have 
fought  savagely  as  a  wild  cat;  but  Tom  had  been  absent 
two  years,  and,  perhaps,  a  little  timely  submission  would 
win  him  back  to  her.  None  the  less,  the  weekly  trust 
was  sacred. 

The  wave  that  had  so  long  held  back  descended  on 
Tom's  brain.  He  caught  Badalia  by  the  throat  and 
forced  her  to  her  knees.  It  seemed  just  to  him  in  that 
hour  to  punish  an  erring  wife  for  two  years  of  wilful  de- 
sertion; and  the  more,  in  that  she  had  confessed  her 
guilt  by  refusing  to  give  up  the  wage  of  sin. 

Lascar  Loo's  mother  waited  on  the  pavement  without 
for  the  sounds  of  lamentation,  but  none  came.  Even  if 
Tom  had  released  her  gullet  Badalia  would  not  have 
screamed. 

'Give  it  up,  you  slut!'  said  Tom.  'Is  that  'ow  you 
pay  me  back  for  all  I've  done?' 

'I  can't.  'Tain't  my  money.  Gawd  forgive  you, 
Tom,  for  wot  you're — ,'  the  voice  ceased  as  the  grip 
tightened,  and  Tom  heaved  Badalia  against  the  bed. 
Her  forehead  struck  the  bed-post,  and  she  sank,  half 
kneeling,  on  the  floor.  It  was  impossible  for  a  self-re- 
specting man  to  refrain  from  kicking  her:  so  Tom  kicked 
with  the  deadly  intelligence  born  of  whisky.  The  head 
drooped  to  the  floor,  and  Tom  kicked  at  that  tfll  the 
crisp  tingle  of  hair  striking  through  his  nafled  boot  with 
the  chill  of  cold  w^ater,  warned  him  that  it  might  be  as 
well  to  desist. 

'Where's  the  curick's  money,  you  kep'  woman?'  he 
whispered  in  the  blood-stained  ear.  But  there  was  no 
answer — only  a  rattling  at  the  door,  and  the  voice  of 
Jenny  Wabstow  crying  ferociously,  '  Come  out  o'  that, 

289 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Tom,  an'  come  'ome  with  me!  An'  you,  Badalia,  I'll 
tear  your  face  off  its  bones ! ' 

Tom's  friends  had  delivered  their  message,  and  Jenny, 
after  the  first  flood  of  passionate  tears,  rose  up  to  follow 
Tom,  and,  if  possible,  to  win  him  back.  She  was  pre- 
pared even  to  endure  an  exemplary  whacking  for  her 
performances  in  Hennessy's  Rents.  Lascar  Loo's  mother 
guided  her  to  the  chamber  of  horrors,  and  chuckled  as  she 
retired  down  the  staircase.  If  Tom  had  not  banged 
the  soul  out  of  Badalia,  there  would  at  least  be  a  royal 
fight  between  that  Badalia  and  Jenny.  And  Lascar  Loo's 
mother  knew  well  that  Hell  has  no  fury  like  a  woman 
fighting  above  the  life  that  is  quick  in  her. 

Still  there  was  no  sound  audible  in  the  street.  Jenny 
swung  back  the  unbolted  door,  to  discover  her  man  stu- 
pidly regarding  a  heap  by  the  bed.  An  eminent  mur- 
derer has  remarked  that  if  people  did  not  die  so  untidily, 
most  men,  and  all  women,  would  commit  at  least  one 
murder  in  their  lives.  Tom  was  reflecting  on  the  pres- 
ent untidiness,  and  the  whisky  was  fighting  with  the 
clear  current  of  his  thoughts. 

*  Don't  make  that  noise,'  he  said.     'Come  in  quick.' 

*  My  Gawd ! '  said  Jenny,  checking  like  a  startled  wild 
beast.     '  Wot's  all  this  'ere?    You  ain't—' 

*Dunno.     'Spose  I  did  it.' 

*  Did  it !    You  done  it  a  sight  too  well  this  time.* 
'She  was  aggravatin','  said  Tom  thickly,  dropping 

back  into  the  chair.  'That  aggravatin'  you'd  never  be- 
lieve. Livin'  on  the  fat  o'  the  land  among  these  aristo- 
cratic parsons  an'  all.  Look  at  them  white  curtings  on 
the  bed.  We  ain't  got  no  white  curtings.  What  I 
want  to  know  is — '  The  voice  died  as  Badalia's  had 
died,  but  from  a  different  cause.    The  whisky  was 

290 


THE  RECORD  OF  BADALIA  HERODSFOOT 

tightening  its  grip  after  the  accompUshed  deed,  and 
Tom's  eyes  were  beginning  to  close.  Badaha  on  the 
floor  breathed  heavily. 

'No,  nor  like  to  'ave,'  said  Jenny.  'You've  done  for 
'er  this  time.     You  go!' 

'Not  me.  She  won't  hurt.  Do  'er  good.  I'm  goin' 
to  sleep.  Look  at  those  there  clean  sheets!  Ain't  you 
comin'  too?' 

Jenny  bent  over  Badalia,  and  there  was  intelligence  in 
the  battered  woman's  eyes — intelligence  and  much  hate. 

'I  never  told  'im  to  do  such,' Jenny  whispered.  '  'Twas 
Tom's  own  doin' — none  o'  mine.  Shall  I  get  'im  took, 
dear?' 

The  eyes  told  their  own  story.  Tom,  who  was  begin- 
ning to  snore,  must  not  be  taken  by  the  Law. 

'Go,' said  Jenny.     'Get  out!     Get  out  of 'ere.' 

'You — told — me — that — this  afternoon,'  said  the 
man  very  sleepily.     '  Lemme  go  asleep.' 

'  That  wasn't  nothing.  You'd  only  'it  me.  This  time 
it's  murder — murder-murder!  Tom,  you've  killed  'er 
now.'  She  shook  the  man  from  his  rest,  and  understand- 
ing with  cold  terror  filled  his  fuddled  brain. 

'  I  done  it  for  your  sake,  Jenny,'  he  whimpered  feebly, 
trying  to  take  her  hand. 

'You  killed  'er  for  the  money,  same  as  you  would  ha' 
killed  me.  Get  out  o'  this.  Lay  'er  on  the  bed  first, 
you  brute!' 

They  lifted  Badalia  on  to  the  bed,  and  crept  forth  si- 
lently. 

'I  can't  be  took  along  o'  you — and  if  you  was  took 
you'd  say  I  made  you  do  it,  an'  try  to  get  me  'anged. 
Go  away — anywhere  outer  'ere,'  said  Jenny,  and  she 
dragged  him  down  the  stairs. 

291 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

'Goin'  to  look  for  the  curick?'  said  a  voice  from  the 
pavement.  Lascar  Loo's  mother  was  still  waiting  pa- 
tiently to  hear  Badalia  squeal. 

*Wot  curick?'  said  Jenny  swiftly.  There  was  a 
chance  of  salving  her  conscience  yet  in  regard  to  the 
bundle  upstairs. 

'  'Anna — 63  Roomer  Terrace — close  'ere,'  said  the  old 
woman.  She  had  never  been  favourably  regarded  by 
the  curate.  Perhaps,  since  Badalia  had  not  squealed, 
Tom  preferred  smashing  the  man  to  the  woman.  There 
was  no  accounting  for  tastes. 

Jenny  thrust  her  man  before  her  till  they  reached  the 
nearest  main  road.  'Go  away,  now,'  she  gasped.  *Go 
off  anywheres,  but  don't  come  back  to  me.  I'll  never 
go  with  you  again;  an',  Tom — Tom,  d'you  'ear  me? — 
clean  your  boots.' 

Vain  counsel.  The  desperate  thrust  of  disgust  which 
she  bestowed  upon  him  sent  him  staggering  face-down 
into  the  kennel,  where  a  policeman  showed  interest  in 
his  welfare. 

'Took  for  a  common  drunk.  Gawd  send  they  don't 
look  at  'is  boots!  'Anna,  63  Roomer  Terrace!'  Jenny 
settled  her  hat  and  ran. 

The  excellent  housekeeper  of  the  Roomer  Chambers 
still  remembers  how  there  arrived  a  young  person,  blue- 
lipped  and  gasping,  who  cried  only:  'Badalia,  17  Gunni- 
son Street.  Tell  the  curick  to  come  at  once — at  once — 
at  once!'  and  vanished  into  the  night.  This  message 
was  borne  to  the  Rev.  Eustace  Hanna,  then  enjoying 
his  beauty-sleep.  He  saw  there  was  urgency  in  the  de- 
mand, and  unhesitatingly  knocked  up  Brother  Victor 
across  the  landing.  As  a  matter  of  etiquette,  Rome 
and  England  divided  their  cases  in  the  district  according 

292 


THE  RECORD  OF  BADALIA  HERODSFOOT 

to  the  creeds  of  the  sufferers;  but  Badalia  was  an  institu- 
tion, and  not  a  case,  and  there  was  no  district-relief  eti- 
quette to  be  considered.  'Something  has  happened  to 
Badaha,'  the  curate  said,  'and  it's  your  affair  as  well  as 
mine.     Dress  and  come  along.' 

'I  am  ready,'  was  the  answer.  'Is  there  any  hint  of 
what's  wrong?' 

'Nothing  beyond  a  runaway-knock  and  a  call.' 

'  Then  it's  a  confinement  or  a  murderous  assault.  Bada- 
lia wouldn't  wake  us  up  for  anything  less.  I'm  qualified 
for  both,  thank  God.' 

The  two  men  raced  to  Gunnison  Street,  for  there  were 
no  cabs  abroad,  and  under  any  circumstances  a  cab-fare 
means  two  days'  good  firing  for  such  as  are  perishing 
with  cold.  Lascar  Loo's  mother  had  gone  to  bed,  and 
the  door  was  naturally  on  the  latch.  They  found  con- 
siderably more  than  they  had  expected  in  Badalia's 
room,  and  the  Church  of  Rome  acquitted  itself  nobly 
with  bandages,  while  the  Church  of  England  could  only 
pray  to  be  delivered  from  the  sin  of  envy.  The  Order 
of  Little  Ease,  recognising  that  the  soul  is  in  most  cases 
accessible  through  the  body,  take  their  measures  and 
train  their  men  accordingly. 

'She'll  do  now,'  said  Brother  Victor,  in  a  whisper. 
'It's  internal  bleeding,  I  fear,  and  a  certain  amount  of 
injury  to  the  brain.     She  has  a  husband,  of  course? ' 

*They  all  have,  more's  the  pity.' 

*Yes,  there's  a  domesticity  about  these  injuries  that 
shows  their  origin.'  He  lowered  his  voice.  '  It's  a  per- 
fectly hopeless  business,  you  understand.  Twelve  hours 
at  the  most.' 

Badalia's  right  hand  began  to  beat  on  the  counterpane, 
palm  down. 

293 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

*I  think  you  are  wrong,'  said  the  Church  of  England. 
'She  is  going.' 

'No,  that's  not  the  picking  at  the  counterpane,'  said 
the  Church  of  Rome.  'She  wants  to  say  something; 
you  know  her  better  than  I.' 

The  curate  bent  very  low. 

'Send  for  Miss  Eva,'  said  Badalia,  with  a  cough. 

*  In  the  morning.  She  will  come  in  the  morning,'  said 
the  curate,  and  Badalia  was  content.  Only  the  Church 
of  Rome,  who  knew  something  of  the  human  heart, 
knitted  his  brows  and  said  nothing.  After  all,  the  law 
of  his  Order  was  plain.  His  duty  was  to  watch  till  the 
dawn  while  the  moon  went  down. 

It  was  a  little  before  her  sinking  that  the  Rev.  Eustace 
Hanna  said,  'Hadn't  we  better  send  for  Sister  Eva? 
She  seems  to  be  going  fast.' 

Brother  Victor  made  no  answer,  but  as  early  as  de- 
cency admitted  there  came  one  to  the  door  of  the  house  of 
the  Little  Sisters  of  the  Red  Diamond  and  demanded 
Sister  Eva,  that  she  might  soothe  the  pain  of  Badalia 
Herodsfoot.  That  man,  saying  very  little,  led  her  to 
Gunnison  Street,  No.  17,  and  into  the  room  where  Ba- 
dalia lay.  Then  he  stood  on  the  landing,  and  bit  the 
flesh  of  his  fingers  in  agony,  because  he  was  a  priest 
trained  to  know,  and  knew  how  the  hearts  of  men  and 
women  beat  back  at  the  rebound,  so  that  Love  is  born 
out  of  horror,  and  passion  declares  itself  when  the  soul  is 
quivering  with  pain. 

Badalia,  wise  to  the  last,  husbanded  her  strength  till 
the  coming  of  Sister  Eva.  It  is  generally  maintained  by 
the  Little  Sisters  of  the  Red  Diamond  that  she  died  in 
delirium,  but  since  one  Sister  at  least  took  a  half  of  her 
dying  advice,  this  seems  uncharitable. 

294 


THE  RECORD  OF  BADALIA  HERODSFOOT 

She  tried  to  turn  feebly  on  the  bed,  and  the  poor  bro- 
ken human  machinery  protested  according  to  its  nature. 

Sister  Eva  started  forward,  thinking  that  she  heard 
the  dread  forerunner  of  the  death-rattle.  Badalia  lay 
still  conscious,  and  spoke  with  startling  distinctness,  the 
irrepressible  irreverence  of  the  street-hawker,  the  girl 
who  had  danced  on  the  winkle-barrow,  twinkling  in  her 
one  available  eye. 

'Sounds  jest  like  Mrs.  Jessel,  don't  it?  Before  she's 
'ad  'er  lunch  an'  'as  been  talkin'  all  the  mornin'  to  her 
classes.' 

Neither  Sister  Eva  nor  the  curate  said  anything. 
Brother  Victor  stood  without  the  door,  and  the  breath 
came  harshly  between  his  teeth,  for  he  was  in  pain. 

*Put  a  cloth  over  my  'ead,'  said  Badalia.  'I've  got 
it  good,  an'  I  don't  want  Miss  Eva  to  see.  I  ain't  pretty 
this  time.' 

'Who  was  it?'  said  the  curate. 

*  Man  from  outside.  Never  seed  'im  no  mor'n  Adam. 
Drunk,  I  s'pose.  S'elp  me  Gawd  that's  truth !  Is  Miss 
Eva  'ere?  I  can't  see  under  the  towel.  I've  got  it 
good,  Miss  Eva.  Excuse  my  not  shakin'  'ands  with 
you,  but  I'm  not  strong,  an'  it's  fourpence  for  Mrs. 
Imeny's  beef-tea,  an'  wot  you  can  give  'er  for  baby- 
linning.  Alius  'avin'  kids,  these  people.  I  'adn't 
oughter  talk,  for  my  'usband  'e  never  come  a-nigh  me 
these  two  years,  or  I'd  a-bin  as  bad  as  the  rest;  but  'e 
never  come  a-nigh  me.  ...  A  man  come  and  'it 
me  over  the  'ead,  an'  'e  kicked  me.  Miss  Eva;  so  it  was 
just  the  same's  if  I  had  ha'  had  a  'usband,  ain't  it?  The 
book's  in  the  drawer.  Mister  'Anna,  an'  it's  all  right,  an' 
I  never  guv  up  a  copper  o'  the  trust  money — not  a  cop- 
per.    You  look  under  the  chist  o'  drawers — all  wot  isn't 

295 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

spent  this  week  is  there.  .  .  .  An',  Miss  Eva,  don't 
you  wear  that  gray  bonnick  no  more.  I  kep'  you  from 
the  diptheery,  an' — an'  I  didn't  want  to  keep  you  so,  but 
the  curick  said  it  'ad  to  be  done.  I'd  a  sooner  ha'  took 
up  with  'im  than  any  one,  only  Tom  'e  come,  an'  then — 
you  see,  Miss  Eva,  Tom  'e  never  come  a-nigh  me  for  two 
years,  nor  I  'aven't  seen  'im  yet.  S'elp  me — ,  I  'aven't. 
Do  you  'ear?  But  you  two  go  along,  and  make  a  match 
of  it.  I've  wished  otherways  often,  but  o'  course  it  was 
not  for  the  likes  o'  me.  If  Tom  'ad  come  back,  which  'e 
never  did,  I'd  ha'  been  like  the  rest — sixpence  for  beef- 
tea  for  the  baby,  an'  a  shilling  for  layin'  out  the  baby. 
You've  seen  it  in  the  books.  Mister  'Anna.  That's 
what  it  is;  an'  o'  course,  you  couldn't  never  'ave  nothing 
to  do  with  me.  But  a  woman  she  wishes  as  she  looks, 
an'  never  you  'ave  no  doubt  about  'im.  Miss  Eva.  I've 
seen  it  in  'is  face  time  an'  agin — time  an'  agin.  .  .  . 
Make  it  a  four  pound  ten  funeral — with  a  pall.' 

It  was  a  seven  pound  fifteen  shilling  funeral,  and  all 
Gunnison  Street  turned  out  to  do  it  honour.  All  but 
two;  for  Lascar  Loo's  mother  saw  that  a  Power  had  de- 
parted, and  that  her  road  lay  clear  to  the  custards. 
Therefore,  when  the  carriages  rattled  off,  the  cat  on  the 
doorstep  heard  the  wail  of  the  dying  prostitute  who 
could  not  die — 

'  Oh,  mother,  mother,  won't  you  even  let  me  lick  the 
spoon ! ' 


296 


m 


JUDSON  AND  THE  EMPIRE 

(1892) 

Gloriana !     The  Don  may  attack  us 
Whenever  his  stomach  be  fain; 
He  must  reach  us  before  he  can  rack  us     .     .     . 
And  where  are  the  galleons  of  Spain? 

Dobson. 

ONE  of  the  many  beauties  of  a  democracy  is  its  al- 
most superhumanskill  in  developingtroubles  with 
other  countries  and  finding  its  honour  abraded 
in  the  process.  A  true  democracy  has  a  large  contempt 
for  all  other  lands  that  are  governed  by  Kings  and  Queens 
and  Emperors;  and  knows  little  and  thinks  less  of  their 
internal  affairs.  All  it  regards  is  its  own  dignity,  which  is 
its  King,  Queen,  and  Knave.  So,  sooner  or  later,  its  in- 
ternational differences  end  in  the  common  people,  who 
have  no  dignity,  shouting  the  common  abuse  of  the 
street,  which  also  has  no  dignity,  across  the  seas  in  order 
to  vindicate  their  new  dignity.  The  consequences  may 
or  may  not  be  war;  but  the  chances  do  not  favour  peace. 
One  advantage  in  living  in  a  civilised  land  which  is 
really  governed  lies  in  the  fact  that  all  the  Kings  and 
Queens  and  Emperors  of  the  Continent  are  closely  re- 
lated by  blood  or  marriage;  are,  in  fact,  one  large  family. 
A.  wise  head  among  them  knows  that  what  appears  to  be 

297 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

a  studied  insult  may  be  no  more  than  some  man's  indi- 
gestion or  woman's  indisposition,  to  be  treated  as  such, 
and  explained  by  quiet  talk.  Again,  a  popular  demon- 
stration, headed  by  King  and  Court,  may  mean  nothing 
more  than  that  so-and-so's  people  are  out  of  hand  for 
the  minute.  When  a  horse  falls  to  kicking  in  a  hunt- 
crowd  at  a  gate,  the  rider  does  not  dismount,  but  puts 
his  open  hand  behind  him,  and  the  others  draw  aside. 
It  is  so  with  the  rulers  of  men.  In  the  old  days  they 
cured  their  own  and  their  people's  bad  temper  with  fire 
and  slaughter;  but  now  that  the  fire  is  so  long  of  range 
and  the  slaughter  so  large,  they  do  other  things;  and  few 
among  their  people  guess  how  much  they  owe  of  mere 
life  and  money  to  what  the  slang  of  the  minute  calls 
*  puppets'  and  'luxuries.' 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  little  Power,  the  half- 
bankrupt  wreck  of  a  once  great  empire,  that  lost  its  tem- 
per with  England,  the  whipping-boy  of  all  the  world, 
and  behaved,  as  every  one  said,  most  scandalously. 
But  it  is  not  generally  known  that  that  Power  fought  a 
pitched  battle  with  England  and  won  a  glorious  victo^>^ 
The  trouble  began  with  the  people.  Their  own  misfor- 
tunes had  been  many,  and  for  private  rage  it  is  always 
refreshing  to  find  a  vent  in  public  swearing.  Their  na- 
tional vanity  had  been  deeply  injured,  and  they  thought 
of  their  ancient  glories  and  the  days  when  their  fleets 
had  first  rounded  the  Cape  of  Storms,  and  their  own 
newspapers  called  upon  Camoens  and  urged  them  to 
extravagances.  It  was  the  gross,  smooth,  sleek,  lying 
England  that  was  checking  their  career  of  colonial  ex- 
pansion. They  assumed  at  once  that  their  ruler  was  in 
league  with  England,  so  they  cried  with  great  heat  that 
they  would  forthwith  become  a  Republic  and  colonially 

298 


JUDSON  AND  THE  EMPIRE 

expand  themselves  as  a  free  people  should.  This  made 
plam,  the  people  threw  stones  at  the  English  Consuls  and 
spat  at  English  ladies,  and  cut  olT  drunken  sailors  of  Our 
fleet  in  their  ports  and  hammered  them  with  oars,  and 
made  things  very  unpleasant  for  tourists  at  their  cus- 
toms, and  threatened  awful  deaths  to  the  consumptive 
invalids  of  Madeira,  while  the  junior  officers  of  the  army 
drank  fruit-extracts  and  entered  into  most  blood-curd- 
ling conspiracies  against  their  monarch;  all  with  the 
object  of  being  a  Republic.  Now  the  history  of  the 
South  American  Republics  shows  that  it  is  not  good 
that  Southern  Europeans  should  be  also  Republicans. 
They  glide  too  quickly  into  military  despotism ;  and  the 
propping  of  men  against  walls  and  shooting  them  in  de- 
tachments can  be  arranged  much  more  economically 
and  with  less  effect  on  the  death-rate  by  a  hide-bound 
monarchy.  Still  the  performances  of  the  Power  as  rep- 
resented by  its  people  were  extremely  inconvenient. 
It  was  the  kicking  horse  in  the  crowd,  and  probably  the 
rider  explained  that  he  could  not  check  it.  So  the  people 
enjoyed  all  the  glory  of  war  with  none  of  the  risks,  and 
the  tourists  who  were  stoned  in  their  travels  returned 
stolidly  to  England  and  told  the  '  Times '  that  the  police 
arrangements  of  foreign  towns  were  defective. 

This,  then,  was  the  state  of  affairs  north  the  Line. 
South  it  was  more  strained,  for  there  the  Powers  were  at 
direct  issue :  England,  unable  to  go  back  because  of  the 
pressure  of  adventurous  children  behind  her,  and  the  ac- 
tions of  far-away  adventurers  who  would  not  come  to 
heel,  but  offering  to  buy  out  her  rival;  and  the  other 
Power,  lacking  men  or  money,  stiff  in  the  conviction  that 
three  hundred  years  of  slave-holding  and  intermingling 
with  the  nearest  natives  gave  an  inalienable  right  to 

299 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

hold  slaves  and  issue  half-castes  to  all  eternity.  They 
had  built  no  roads.  Their  towns  were  rotting  under  their 
hands;  they  had  no  trade  worth  the  freight  of  a  crazy 
steamer;  and  their  sovereignty  ran  almost  one  musket- 
shot  inland  when  things  were  peaceful.  For  these  very 
reasons  they  raged  all  the  more,  and  the  things  that  they 
said  and  wrote  about  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
English  would  have  driven  a  younger  nation  to  the  guns 
with  a  long  red  bill  for  wounded  honour. 

It  was  then  that  Fate  sent  down  in  a  twin-screw 
shallow-draft  gunboat,  of  some  270  tons  displacement, 
designed  for  the  defence  of  rivers.  Lieutenant  Harrison 
Edward  Judson,  to  be  known  for  the  future  as  Bai-Jove- 
Judson.  His  type  of  craft  looked  exactly  like  a  flat-iron 
with  a  match  stuck  up  in  the  middle ;  it  drew  five  feet  of 
water  or  less;  carried  a  four-inch  gun  forward,  which  was 
trained  by  the  ship;  and,  on  account  of  its  persistent 
rolling,  was,  to  live  in,  three  degrees  worse  than  a  tor- 
pedo-boat. When  Judson  was  appointed  to  take  charge 
of  the  thing  on  her  little  trip  of  six  or  seven  thousand 
miles  southward,  his  first  remark  as  he  went  to  look  her 
over  in  dock  was,  'Bai  Jove,  that  topmast  wants  staying 
forward ! '  The  topmast  was  a  stick  about  as  thick  as  a 
clothes-prop;  but  the  flat-iron  was  Judson's  first  com- 
mand, and  he  would  not  have  exchanged  his  position  for 
second  post  on  the  'Anson'  or  the  'Howe.'  He  navi- 
gated her,  under  convoy,  tenderly  and  lovingly  to  the 
Cape  (the  story  of  the  topmast  came  with  him),  and  he 
was  so  absurdly  in  love  with  his  wallowing  wash-tub 
when  he  reported  himself,  that  the  Admiral  of  the  sta- 
tion thought  it  would  be  a  pity  to  kill  a  new  man  on  her, 
and  allowed  Judson  to  continue  in  his  unenvied  rule. 

The  Admiral  visited  her  once  in  Simon's  Bay,  and  she 

300 


JUDSON  AND  THE  EMPIRE 

was  bad,  even  for  a  flat-iron  gunboat,  strictly  designed 
for  river  and  harbour  defence.  She  sweated  clammy 
drops  of  dew  between  decks  in  spite  of  a  preparation  of 
powdered  cork  that  was  sprinkled  over  her  inside  paint. 
She  rolled  in  the  long  Cape  swell  like  a  buoy;  her  foc's'le 
was  a  dog-kennel;  Judson's  cabin  was  practically  under 
the  water-line;  not  one  of  her  dead-lights  could  ever  be 
opened;  and  her  compasses,  thanks  to  the  influence  of 
the  four-inch  gun,  were  a  curiosity  even  among  Ad- 
miralty compasses.  But  Bai-Jove-Judson  was  radiant 
and  enthusiastic.  He  had  even  contrived  to  fill  Mr. 
Davies,  the  second-class  engine-room  artificer,  who  was 
his  chief  engineer,  with  the  glow  of  his  passion.  The  Ad- 
miral, who  remembered  his  own  first  command,  when 
pride  forbade  him  to  slack  off  a  single  rope  on  a  dewy 
night,  and  he  had  racked  his  rigging  to  pieces  in  conse- 
quence, looked  at  the  flat-iron  keenly.  Her  fenders  were 
done  all  over  with  white  sennit,  which  was  truly  white; 
her  big  gun  was  varnished  with  a  better  composition 
than  the  Admiralty  allowed ;  the  spare  sights  were  cased 
as  carefully  as  the  chronometers;  the  chocks  for  spare 
spars,  two  of  them,  were  made  of  four-inch  Burma  teak 
carved  with  dragons'  heads  (that  was  one  result  of  Bai- 
Jove-Judson's  experiences  with  the  naval  brigade  in  the 
Burmese  war),  the  bow-anchor  was  varnished  instead  of 
being  painted,  and  there  were  charts  other  than  the  Ad^ 
miralty  scale  supplied.  The  Admiral  was  well  pleased, 
for  he  loved  a  ship's  husband — a  man  who  had  a  little 
money  of  his  own  and  was  willing  to  spend  it  on  his  com- 
mand. Judson  looked  at  him  hopefully.  He  was  only 
a  Junior  Navigating  Lieutenant  under  eight  years' 
standing.  He  might  be  kept  in  Simon's  Bay  for  six 
months,  and  his  ship  at  sea  was  his  delight.     The  dream 

301. 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

of  his  heart  was  to  enliven  her  dismal  official  gray  with  a 
line  of  gold-leaf  and,  perhaps,  a  little  scroll-work  at  her 
blunt  barge-like  bows. 

*  There's  nothing  like  afirst  command,  is  there? '  said  the 
Admiral,  reading  his  thoughts.  '  You  seem  to  have  rather 
queer  compasses  though.    Better  get  them  adjusted.' 

'It's  no  use,  sir,'  said  Judson.  'The  gun  would  throw 
out  the  Pole  itself.  But — but  I've  got  the  hang  of  most 
of  the  weaknesses.' 

*  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  lay  that  gun  over  thirty 
degrees,  please?'  The  gun  was  put  over.  Round  and 
round  and  round  went  the  needle  merrily,  and  the  Ad- 
miral whistled. 

'You  must  have  kept  close  to  your  convoy?' 

'Saw  her  twice  between  here  and  Madeira,  sir,'  said 
Judson  with  a  flush,  for  he  resented  the  slur  on  his  steam- 
ship. 'She's — she's  a  little  out  of  hand  now,  but  she 
will  settle  down  after  a  while.' 

The  Admiral  went  over  the  side,  according  to  the  rules 
of  the  Service,  but  the  Staff-Captain  must  have  told  the 
other  men  of  the  squadron  in  Simon's  Bay,  for  they  one 
and  all  made  light  of  the  flat-iron  for  many  days.  '  What 
can  you  shake  out  of  her,  Judson? '  said  the  Lieutenant 
of  the  'Mongoose,'  a  real  white-painted  ram-bow  gun- 
boat with  quick-firing  guns,  as  he  came  into  the  upper 
veranda  of  the  little  naval  Club  overlooking  the  dock- 
yard one  hot  afternoon.  It  is  in  that  club,  as  the  cap- 
tains come  and  go,  that  you  hear  all  the  gossip  of  all  the 
Seven  Seas. 

'Ten  point  four,'  said  Bai-Jove-Judson. 

'  Ah !  That  was  on  her  trial  trip.  She's  too  much  by 
the  head  now.  I  told  you  staying  that  topmast  would 
throw  her  out.' 

302 


JUDSON  AND  THE  EMPIRE 

'You  leave  my  top-hamper  alone,'  said  Judson,  for 
the  joke  was  beginning  to  pall  on  him. 

*0h,  mysoul!  Listen  to  him.  Juddy's  top-hamper. 
Keate,  have  you  heard  of  the  flat-iron's  top-hamper? 
You're  to  leave  it  alone.  Commodore  Judson's  feelings 
are  hurt.' 

Keate  was  the  Torpedo  Lieutenant  in  the  big  *Vor- 
tigern,'  and  he  despised  small  things.  *  His  top-hamper/ 
said  he  slowly.  'Oh,  ah  yes,  of  course.  Juddy,  there's 
a  shoal  of  mullet  in  the  bay,  and  I  think  they're  foul  of 
your  screws.  Better  go  down,  or  they'll  carry  away 
something.' 

'  I  don't  let  things  carry  away  as  a  rule.  You  see  I've 
no  Torpedo  Lieutenant  aboard,  thank  God.' 

Keate  within  the  past  week  had  so  managed  to  bungle 
the  slinging-in  of  a  small  torpedo-boat  on  the  '  Vortigern' 
that  the  boat  had  broken  the  crutches  on  which  she 
rested,  and  was  herself  being  repaired  in  the  dockyard 
under  the  Club  windows. 

'One  for  you,  Keate.  Never  mind,  Juddy,  you're 
hereby  appointed  dockyard-tender  for  the  next  three 
years,  and  if  you're  very  good  and  there's  no  sea  on,  you 
shall  take  me  round  the  harbour.  Waitabeechee,  Com- 
modore. What'll  you  take?  Vanderhum  for  the  "  Cook 
and  the  captain  bold.  And  the  mate  o'  the  'Nancy' 
brig,  And  the  bo'sun  tight"  [Juddy,  put  that  cue  down 
or  I'll  put  you  under  arrest  for  insulting  the  lieutenant 
of  a  real  ship],  "And  the  midshipmite,  And  the  crew  of 
the  captain's  gig."  ' 

By  this  time  Judson  had  pinned  him  in  a  corner,  and 
was  prodding  him  with  the  half-butt.  The  Admiral's 
Secretary  entered,  and  saw  the  scuffle  from  the  door. 

*Ouch!    Juddy,  I  apologise.    Take  that — er — top- 

303 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

mast  of  yours  away!  Here's  the  man  with  the  bow- 
string. I  wish  I  were  a  Staff-Captain  instead  of  a  bloody 
lootenant.  Sperril  sleeps  below  every  night.  That's 
what  makes  Sperril  tumble  home  from  the  waist  up- 
wards. Sperril,  I  defy  you  to  touch  me.  I'm  under 
orders  for  Zanzibar.     Probably  I  shall  annex  it!' 

'Judson,  the  Admiral  wants  to  see  you!'  said  the  Staff- 
Captain,  disregarding  the  scoffer  of  the  '  Mongoose.' 

'I  told  you  you'd  be  a  dockyard-tender  yet,  Juddy. 
A  side  of  fresh  beef  to-morrow  and  three  dozen  snapper 
on  ice.     On  ice,  you  understand,  Juddy?' 

Bai-Jove-Judson  and  the  Staff-Captain  went  out  to- 
gether. 

'Now,  what  does  the  old  man  want  with  Judson?' 
said  Keate  from  the  bar. 

*  Don't  know.  Juddy 's  a  damned  good  fellow,  though. 
I  wish  to  goodness  he  was  in  the  "Mongoose"  with  us.' 

The  Lieutenant  of  the  'Mongoose'  dropped  into  a 
chair  and  read  the  mail-papers  for  an  hour.  Then  he 
saw  Bai-Jove-Judson  in  the  street  and  shouted  to  him. 
Judson's  eyes  were  very  bright,  and  his  figure  was  held 
very  straight,  and  he  moved  joyously.  Except  for  the 
Lieutenant  of  the  'Mongoose,'  the  Club  was  empty. 

'Juddy,  there  will  be  a  beautiful  row,'  said  that  young 
man  when  he  had  heard  the  news  delivered  in  an  under- 
tone. 'You'll  probably  have  to  fight,  and  yet  I  can't 
see  what  the  old  man's  thinking  of  to — ' 

*  My  orders  are  not  to  row  under  any  circumstances,' 
said  Judson. 

*  Go-look-see?    That  all?    When  do  you  go? ' 

*  To-night  if  I  can.  I  must  go  down  and  see  about 
things.     I  say,  I  may  want  a  few  men  for  the  day.' 

-  *Any  thing  on  the ' '  Mongoose"  at  your  service.  There's 

304 


JUDSON  AND  THE  EMPIRE 

my  gig  come  over  now.  I  know  that  coast,  dead,  drunk, 
or  asleep,  and  you'll  need  all  the  knowledge  you  can  get. 
If  it  had  only  been  us  two  together !    Come  along  with  me.' 

For  one  whole  hour  Judson  remained  closeted  in  the 
stern  cabin  of  the  'Mongoose,'  listening,  poring  over 
chart  upon  chart  and  taking  notes,  and  for  an  hour  the 
marine  at  the  door  heard  nothing  but  things  like  these: 
'Now  you'll  have  to  lie  in  here  if  there's  any  sea  on. 
That  current  is  ridiculously  under-estimated,  and  it  sets 
west  at  this  season  of  the  year,  remember.  Their  boats 
never  come  south  of  this,  see?  So  it's  no  good  looking 
out  for  them.'  And  so  on  and  so  forth,  while  Judson 
lay  at  length  on  the  locker  by  the  three-pounder,  and 
smoked  and  absorbed  it  all. 

Next  morning  there  was  no  flat-iron  in  Simon's  Bay; 
only  a  little  smudge  of  smoke  off  Cape  Hangklip  to  show 
that  Mr.  Davies,  the  second-class  engine-room  artificer, 
was  giving  her  all  she  could  carry.  At  the  Admiral's 
house  the  ancient  and  retired  bo'sun  who  had  seen  many 
admirals  come  and  go,  brought  out  his  paint  and  brushes 
and  gave  a  new  coat  of  pure  raw  pea-green  to  the  two 
big  cannon  balls  that  stood  one  on  each  side  of  the  Ad- 
miral's entrance-gate.  He  felt  dimly  that  great  events 
were  stirring. 

And  the  flat-iron,  constructed,  as  has  been  before  said, 
solely  for  the  defence  of  rivers,  met  the  great  roll  off 
Cape  Agulhas  and  was  swept  from  end  to  end,  and  sat 
upon  her  twin  screws,  and  leaped  as  gracefully  as  a  cow 
in  a  bog  from  one  sea  to  another,  till  Mr.  Davies  began 
to  fear  for  the  safety  of  his  engines,  and  the  Kroo  boys 
that  made  the  majority  of  the  crew  were  deathly  sick. 
She  ran  along  a  very  badly-lighted  coast,  past  bays  that 
were  no  bays,  where  ugly  flat-topped  rocks  lay  almost 

305 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

level  with  the  water,  and  very  many  extraordinary  things 
happened  that  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  story,  but 
they  were  all  duly  logged  by  Bai-Jove-Judson. 

At  last  the  coast  changed  and  grew  green  and  low  and 
exceedingly  muddy,  and  there  were  broad  rivers  whose 
bars  were  little  islands  standing  three  or  four  miles  out 
at  sea,  and  Bai-Jove-Judson  hugged  the  shore  more 
closely  than  ever,  remembering  what  the  lieutenant  of 
the  'Mongoose'  had  told  him.  Then  he  found  a  river 
full  of  the  smell  of  fever  and  mud,  with  green  stuff  grow- 
ing far  into  its  waters,  and  a  current  that  made  the  flat- 
iron  gasp  and  grunt. 

'We  will  turn  up  here,'  said  Bai-Jove-Judson,  and 
they  turned  up  accordingly;  Mr.  Davies  wondering 
what  in  the  world  it  all  meant,  and  the  Kroo  boys  grin- 
ning merrily.  Bai-Jove-Judson  went  forward  to  the 
bows  and  meditated,  staring  through  the  muddy  waters. 
After  two  hours  of  rooting  through  this  desolation  at  an 
average  rate  of  five  miles  an  hour,  his  eyes  were  cheered 
by  the  sight  of  one  white  buoy  in  the  coffee-hued  mid- 
stream. The  flat-iron  crept  up  to  it  cautiously,  and  a 
leadsman  took  soundings  all  round  it  from  a  dinghy, 
while  Bai-Jove-Judson  smoked  and  thought,  with  his 
head  on  one  side. 

'About  seven  feet,  isn't  there?'  said  he.  'That  must 
be  the  tail-end  of  the  shoal.  There's  four  fathom  in  the 
fairway.  Knock  that  buoy  down  with  axes.  I  don't 
think  it's  picturesque,  somehow.'  The  Kroo  men  hacked 
the  wooden  sides  to  pieces  in  three  minutes,  and  the 
mooring-chain  sank  with  the  last  splinters  of  wood. 
Bai-Jove-Judson  laid  the  flat-iron  carefully  over  the  site, 
while  Mr.  Davies  watched,  biting  his  nails  nervously. 

*Can  you  back  her  against  this  current?'  said  Bai- 

306 


JUDSON  AND  THE  EMPIRE 

Jove-Judson.  Mr.  Davies  could,  inch  by  inch,  but  only 
inch  by  inch,  and  Bai-Jove-Judson  stood  in  the  bows  and 
gazed  at  various  things  on  the  bank  as  they  came  into 
line  or  opened  out.  The  flat-iron  dropped  down  over 
the  tail  of  the  shoal,  exactly  where  the  buoy  had  been, 
and  backed  once  more  before  Bai-Jove-Judson  was  satis- 
fied. Then  they  went  up-stream  for  half  an  hour,  put 
into  shoal  water  by  the  bank  and  waited,  with  a  slip-rope 
on  the  anchor. 

'  'Seems  to  me,'  said  Mr.  Davies  deferentially,  'like  as 
if  I  heard  some  one  a-firing  off  at  intervals,  so  to  say.' 

There  was  beyond  doubt  a  dull  mutter  in  the  air. 

'  'Seems  to  me,'  said  Bai-Jove-Judson,  'as  if  I  heard  a 
screw.     Stand  by  to  slip  her  moorings.' 

Another  ten  minutes  passed  and  the  beat  of  engines 
grew  plainer.  Then  round  the  bend  of  the  river  came  a 
remarkably  prettily-built  white-painted  gunboat  with 
a  blue  and  white  flag  bearing  a  red  boss  in  the  centre. 

'Unshackle  abaft  the  windlass!  Stream  both  buoys! 
Easy  astern.  Let  go,  all!'  The  slip-rope  flew  out,  the 
two  buoys  bobbed  in  the  water  to  mark  where  anchor 
and  cable  had  been  left,  and  the  flat-iron  waddled  out 
into  midstream  with  the  white  ensign  at  her  one  mast- 
head. 

*  Give  her  all  you  can.  That  thing  has  the  legs  of  us,' 
said  Judson.     '  And  down  we  go.' 

'It's  war — bloody  war!  He's  going  to  fire,'  said  Mr. 
Davies,  looking  up  through  the  engine-room  hatch. 

The  white  gunboat  without  a  word  of  explanation 
fired  three  guns  at  the  flat-iron,  cutting  the  trees  on  the 
banks  into  green  chips.  Bai-Jove-Judson  was  at  the 
wheel,  and  Mr.  Davies  and  the  current  helped  the  boat 
to  an  almost  respectable  degree  of  speed. 

307 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

It  was  an  exciting  chase,  but  it  did  not  last  for  more 
than  five  minutes.  The  white  gunboat  fired  again,  and 
Mr.  Davies  in  his  engine-room  gave  a  wild  shout. 

'  What's  the  matter?     Hit? '  said  Bai-Jove-Judson. 

'No,  I've  just  seized  of  your  roos-de-gare.  Beg  y' 
pardon,  sir.' 

'Right  0!  Just  the  half  a  fraction  of  a  point  more.' 
The  v.heel  turned  under  the  steady  hand,  as  Bai-Jove- 
Judson  watched  his  marks  on  the  bank  falling  in  line 
swiftly  as  troops  anxious  to  aid.  The  flat-iron  smelt 
the  shoal-water  under  her,  checked  for  an  instant,  and 
went  on.  'Now  we're  over.  Come  along,  you  thieves, 
there ! '  said  Judson. 

The  white  gunboat,  too  hurried  even  to  fire,  was  storm- 
ing in  the  wake  of  the  flat-iron,  steering  as  she  steered. 
This  was  unfortunate,  because  the  lighter  craft  was 
dead  over  the  missing  buoy. 

'  What  you  do  here? '  shouted  a  voice  from  the  bows. 

'I'm  going  on.     Sit  tight.     Now  you're  arranged  for.' 

There  was  a  crash  and  a  clatter  as  the  white  gunboat's 
nose  took  the  shoal,  and  the  brown  mud  boiled  up  in 
oozy  circles  under  her  forefoot.  Then  the  current  caught 
her  stern  on  the  starboard  side  and  drove  her  broadside 
on  to  the  shoal,  slowly  and  gracefully.  There  she  heeled 
at  an  undignified  angle,  and  her  crew  yelled  aloud. 

'Neat!  Oh,  damn  neat!'  quoth  Mr.  Davies,  dancing 
on  the  engine-room  plates,  while  the  Kroo  stokers  beamed. 

The  flat-iron  turned  up-stream  again,  and  passed 
under  the  hove-up  starboard  side  of  the  white  gunboat, 
to  be  received  with  howls  and  imprecations  in  a  strange 
tongue.  The  stranded  boat,  exposed  even  to  her  lower 
strakes,  was  as  defenceless  as  a  turtle  on  its  back,  with- 
out the  advantage  of  the  turtle's  plating.    And  the  one 

308 


JUDSON  AND  THE  EMPIRE 

big  bluff  gun  in  the  bows  of  the  flat-iron  was  unpleasantly 
near. 

But  the  captain  was  valiant  and  swore  mightily.  Bai- 
Jove-Judson  took  no  sort  of  notice.  His  business  was 
to  go  up  the  river. 

'We  will  come  in  a  flotilla  of  boats  and  ecrazer  your 
vile  tricks,'  said  the  captain,  with  language  that  need 
not  be  published. 

Then  said  Bai-Jove-Judson,  who  was  a  linguist:  'You 
stayo  where  you  areo,  or  I'll  leave  a  holo  in  your  bottomo 
that  will  make  you  muchos  perforatados.' 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  mixed  language  in  reply,  but 
Bai-Jove-Judson  was  out  of  hearing  in  a  few  minutes, 
and  Mr.  Davies,  himself  a  m.an  of  few  words,  confided  to 
one  of  his  subordinates  that  Lieutenant  Judson  was  'a 
most  remarkable  prompt  officer  in  a  way  of  putting  it.' 

For  two  hours  the  flat-iron  pawed  madly  through  the 
muddy  water,  and  that  which  had  been  at  first  a  mutter 
became  a  distinct  rumble. 

'Was  war  declared?'  said  Mr.  Davies,  and  Bai-Jove- 
Judson  laughed.  'Then,  damn  his  eyes,  he  might  have 
spoilt  my  pretty  little  engines.  There's  war  up  there, 
though.' 

The  next  bend  brought  them  full  in  sight  of  a  small 
but  lively  village,  built  round  a  whitewashed  mud  house 
of  some  pretensions.  There  were  scores  and  scores  of 
saddle-coloured  soldiery  in  dirty  white  uniforms  run- 
ning to  and  fro  and  shouting  round  a  man  in  a  litter,  and 
on  a  gentle  slope  that  ran  inland  for  four  or  five  miles 
something  like  a  brisk  battle  was  raging  round  a  rude 
stockade.  A  smell  of  unburied  carcases  floated  through 
the  air  and  vexed  the  sensitive  nose  of  Mr.  Davies,  who 
spat  over  the  side. 

309 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

*I  want  to  get  this  gun  on  that  house,'  said  Bai-Jove- 
Judson,  indicating  the  superior  dwelling  over  whose  flat 
roof  floated  the  blue  and  white  flag.  The  little  twin- 
screws  kicked  up  the  water  exactly  as  a  hen's  legs  kick 
in  the  dust  before  she  settles  down  to  a  bath.  The  little 
boat  moved  uneasily  from  left  to  right,  backed,  yawed 
again,  went  ahead,  and  at  last  the  gray,  blunt  gun's  nose 
was  held  as  straight  as  a  rifle-barrel  on  the  mark  indi- 
cated. Then  Mr.  Davies  allowed  the  whistle  to  speak 
as  it  is  not  allowed  to  speak  in  Her  Majesty's  service  on 
account  of  waste  of  steam.  The  soldiery  of  the  village 
gathered  into  knots  and  groups  and  bunches,  and  the 
firing  up  the  hill  ceased,  and  every  one  except  the  crew 
of  the  flat-iron  yelled  aloud.  Something  like  an  English 
cheer  came  down  wind. 

'Our  chaps  in  mischief  for  sure,  probably,'  said  Mr. 
Davies.  'They  must  have  declared  war  weeks  ago,  in  a 
kind  of  way,  seems  to  me.' 

'Hold  her  steady,  you  son  of  a  soldier!'  shouted  Bai- 
Jove-Judson,  as  the  muzzle  fell  off  the  white  house. 

Something  rang  as  loudly  as  a  ship's  bell  on  the  for- 
ward plates  of  the  flat-iron,  something  spluttered  in  the 
water,  and  another  thing  cut  a  groove  in  the  deck  plank- 
ing an  inch  in  front  of  Bai-Jove-Judson's  left  foot.  The 
saddle-coloured  soldiery  were  flring  as  the  mood  took 
them,  and  the  man  in  the  litter  waved  a  shining  sword. 
The  muzzle  of  the  big  gun  kicked  down  a  fraction  as  it 
was  laid  on  the  mud  wall  at  the  bottom  of  the  house 
garden.  Ten  pounds  of  gunpowder  shut  up  in  a  hun- 
dred pounds  of  metal  was  its  charge.  Three  or  four 
yards  of  the  mud  wall  jumped  up  a  little,  as  a  man  jumps 
when  he  is  caught  in  the  small  of  the  back  with  a  knee- 
cap, and  then  fell  forward,  spreading  fan-wise  in  the  fall. 

310 


JUDSON  AND  THE  EMPIRE 

The  soldiery  fired  no  more  that  day,  and  Judson  saw  an 
old  black  woman  climb  to  the  flat  roof  of  the  house. 
She  fumbled  for  a  time  with  the  flag  halliards,  then,  find- 
ing that  they  were  jammed,  took  off  her  one  garment, 
which  happened  to  be  an  Isabella-coloured  petticoat, 
and  waved  it  impatiently.  The  man  in  the  litter  flour- 
ished a  white  handkerchief,  and  Bai-Jove-Judson  grinned. 
'Now  we'll  give  'em  one  up  the  hill.  Round  with  her, 
Mr.  Davies.  Curse  the  man  who  invented  these  float- 
ing gun-platforms !  When  can  I  pitch  in  a  notice  with- 
out slaying  one  of  those  little  devils? ' 

The  side  of  the  slope  was  speckled  with  men  returning 
in  a  disorderly  fashion  to  the  river-front.  Behind  them 
marched  a  small  but  very  compact  body  of  men  who  had 
filed  out  of  the  stockade.  These  last  dragged  quick- 
firing  guns  with  them. 

'  Bai  Jove,  it's  a  regular  army.  I  wonder  whose,'  said 
Bai-Jove-Judson,  and  he  waited  developments.  The 
descending  troops  met  and  mixed  with  the  troops  in  the 
village,  and,  with  the  litter  in  the  centre,  crowded  down 
to  the  river,  till  the  men  with  the  quick-firing  guns  came 
up  behind  them.  Then  they  divided  left  and  right  and 
the  detachment  marched  through. 

*  Heave  these  damned  things  over!'  said  the  leader 
of  the  party,  and  one  after  another  ten  little  gatlings 
splashed  into  the  muddy  water.  The  flat-iron  lay  close 
to  the  bank. 

*Wn[ien  you're  quite  done,'  said  Bai-Jove-Judson  po- 
litely, 'would  you  mind  telling  me  what's  the  matter? 
I'm  in  charge  here.' 

'We're  the  Pioneers  of  the  General  Development 
Company,'  said  the  leader.  'These  little  bounders 
have  been  hammering  us  in  lager  for  twelve  hours,  and 

311 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

we're  getting  rid  of  their  gatlings.  Had  to  climb  out 
and  take  them;  but  they've  snaffled  the  lock-actions. 
Glad  to  see  you.' 

'Any  one  hurt?' 

*No  one  killed  exactly;  but  we're  very  dry.' 

'  Can  you  hold  your  men? ' 

The  man  turned  round  and  looked  at  his  command 
with  a  grin.  There  were  seventy  of  them,  all  dusty  and 
unkempt. 

'We  shan't  sack  this  ash-bin  if  that's  what  you  mean. 
We're  mostly  gentlemen  here,  though  we  don't  look  it.' 

'All  right.  Send  the  head  of  this  post,  or  fort,  or 
village,  or  whatever  it  is,  aboard,  and  make  what  ar- 
rangements you  can  for  your  men.' 

'  We'll  find  some  barrack  accommodation  somewhere. 
Hullo !  You  in  the  litter  there,  go  aboard  the  gunboat.' 
The  command  wheeled  round,  pushed  through  the  dis- 
located soldiery,  and  began  to  search  through  the  village 
for  spare  huts. 

The  little  man  in  the  litter  came  aboard  smiling  ner- 
vously. He  was  in  the  fullest  of  full  uniform,  with  many 
yards  of  gold  lace  and  dangling  chains.  Also  he  wore 
very  large  spurs;  the  nearest  horse  being  not  more  than 
four  hundred  miles  away.  'My  children,'  said  he,  fac- 
ing the  silent  soldiery,  'lay  aside  your  arms.' 

Most  of  the  men  had  dropped  them  already  and  were 
sitting  down  to  smoke.  'Let  nothing,'  he  added  in  his 
own  tongue,  'tempt  you  to  kill  these  who  have  sought 
your  protection.' 

*Now,'  said  Bai-Jove-Judson,  on  whom  the  last  re- 
mark was  lost,  'will  you  have  the  goodness  to  explain 
what  the  deuce  you  mean  by  all  this  nonsense? ' 

*  It  was  of  a  necessitate,'  said  the  little  man.  '  The  oper- 

312 


JUDSON  AND  THE  EMPIRE 

ations  of  war  are  unconformible.  I  am  the  Governor 
and  I  operate  Captain.     Be  'old  my  little  sword ! ' 

'Confound  your  little  sword,  sir.  I  don't  want  it. 
You've  fired  on  our  flag.  You've  been  firing  at  our 
people  here  for  a  week,  and  I've  been  fired  at  coming  up 
the  river.' 

*Ah!  The  "Guadala."  She  have  misconstrued  you 
for  a  slaver  possibly.     How  are  the  "  Guadala  "? ' 

'Mistook  a  ship  of  Her  Majesty's  navy  for  a  slaver! 
You  mistake  any  craft  for  a  slaver.  Bai  Jove,  sir,  I've 
a  good  mind  to  hang  you  at  the  yard-arm ! ' 

There  was  nothing  nearer  that  terrible  spar  than  the 
walking-stick  in  the  rack  of  Judson's  cabin.  The  Gov- 
ernor looked  at  the  one  mast  and  smiled  a  deprecating 
smile. 

'The  position  is  embarrassment,'  he  said.  'Captain, 
do  you  think  those  illustrious  traders  burn  my  capital? 
My  people  will  give  them  beer.' 

'Never  mind  the  traders,  I  want  an  explanation.' 

'Hum!  There  are  popular  uprising  in  Europe,  Cap- 
tain— in  my  country.'  His  eye  wandered  aimlessly 
round  the  horizon. 

'  What  has  that  to  do  with— ' 

*  Captain,  you  are  very  young.  There  is  still  uproari- 
ment.  But  I,' — here  he  slapped  his  chest  till  his  epau- 
lets jingled — 'I  am  loyalist  to  pits  of  all  my  stomachs.' 

'Go  on,'  said  Judson,  and  his  mouth  quivered. 

'An  order  arrive  to  me  to  establish  a  custom-houses 
here,  and  to  collect  of  the  taximent  from  the  traders 
when  she  are  come  here  necessarily.  That  was  on  ac- 
count of  political  understandings  with  your  country  and 
mine.  But  to  that  arrangement  there  was  no  money 
also.     Not  one  damn  little  cowrie!     I  desire  damnably 

313 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

to  extend  all  commercial  things,  and  why?  I  am  loyal- 
ist and  there  is  rebellion — yes,  I  tell  you — Republics  in 
my  country  for  to  j  ust  begin .  You  do  not  believe?  See 
some  time  how  it  exist.  I  cannot  make  this  custom- 
houses and  pay  so  the  high-paid  officials.  The  people 
too  in  my  country  they  say  the  King  she  has  no  regard- 
ance  into  Honour  of  her  nation.  He  throw  away  every- 
thing— Gladstone  her  all,  you  say,  hey?' 

*  Yes,  that's  what  we  say,'  said  Judson  with  a  grin. 
'Therefore  they  say,  let  us  be  Republics  on  hot  cakes. 

But  I — I  am  loyalist  to  all  my  hands'  ends.  Captain, 
once  I  was  attache  at  Mexico.  I  say  the  Republics  are 
no  good.  The  peoples  have  her  stomach  high.  They 
desire — they  desire — Oh,  course  for  the  bills.' 

'What  on  earth  is  that?' 

*The  cock-fight  for  pay  at  the  gate.  You  give  some- 
thing, pay  for  see  bloody-row.  Do  I  make  my  compre- 
hension? ' 

*A  run  for  their  money — is  that  what  you  mean? 
Gad,  you're  a  sporting  Governor!' 

*  So  I  say.  I  am  loyalist  too.'  He  smiled  more  easily. 
'Now  how  can  anything  do  herself  for  the  customs- 
houses;  but  when  the  Company's  mens  she  arrives,  then 
a  cock-fight  for  pay-at-gate  that  is  quite  correct.  My 
army  he  says  it  will  Republic  and  shoot  me  off  upon 
walls  if  I  have  not  give  her  blood.  An  army.  Captain, 
are  terrible  in  her  angries — especialment  when  she  are 
not  paid.  I  know  too,'  here  he  laid  his  hand  on  Judson's 
shoulder,  'I  know  too  we  are  old  friends.  Yes!  Ba- 
dajos,  Almeida,  Fuentes  d'Onor — time  ever  since;  and  a 
little,  little  cock-fight  for  pay-at-gate  that  is  good  for  my 
King.  More  sit  her  tight  on  throne  behind,  you  see? 
Now,'  he  waved  his  free  hand  round  the  decayed  village, 

314 


JUDSON  AND  THE  EMPIRE 

'I  say  to  my  armies,  Fight!  Fight  the  Company's  men 
when  she  come,  but  fight  not  so  very  strong  that  you  are 
any  dead.  It  is  all  in  the  raporta  that  I  send.  But  you 
understand,  Captain,  we  are  good  friends  all  the  time. 
Ah!  Ciudad  Rodrigo,  you  remember?  No?  Perhaps 
your  father  then?  So  you  see  no  one  are  dead,  and  we 
fight  a  fight,  and  it  is  all  in  the  raporta,  to  please  the 
people  in  our  country;  and  my  armies  they  do  not  put 
me  against  the  walls,  you  see?' 

'Yes;  but  the  "Guadala."  She  fired  on  us.  Was 
that  part  of  your  game,  my  joker? ' 

*The  "Guadala."  Ah!  No,  I  think  not.  Her  cap- 
tain he  is  too  big  fool.  But  I  thought  she  have  gone 
down  the  coast.  Those  your  gunboats  poke  her  nose 
and  shove  her  oar  in  every  place.     How  is  "  Guadala  "? ' 

*  On  a  shoal.     Stuck  till  I  take  her  off.' 

*  There  are  any  deads? ' 
*No.' 

The  Governor  drew  a  breath  of  deep  relief.  'There 
are  no  deads  here.  So  you  see  none  are  deads  anywhere, 
and  nothing  is  done.  Captain,  you  talk  to  the  Com- 
pany's mens.     I  think  they  are  not  pleased.' 

'Naturally.' 

'They  have  no  senses.  I  thought  to  go  backwards 
again  they  would.  I  leave  her  stockade  alone  all  night 
to  let  them  out,  but  they  stay  and  come  facewards  to  me, 
not  backwards.  They  did  not  know  we  must  conquer 
much  in  all  these  battles,  or  the  King,  he  is  kicked  off 
her  throne.  Now  we  have  won  this  battle — this  great 
battle,'  he  waved  his  arms  abroad,  '  and  I  think  you  will 
say  so  that  we  have  won,  Captain.  You  are  loyalist 
also?  You  would  not  disturb  to  the  peaceful  Europe? 
Captain,  I  tell  you  this.     Your  Queen  she  know  too. 

315 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

She  would  not  fight  her  cousin.  It  is  a — a  hand-up 
thing.' 

'What?' 

'  Hand-up  thing.     Jobe  you  put.     How  you  say? ' 

'Put-up  job?' 

'Yes.  Put-up  job.  Who  is  hurt?  We  win.  You 
lose.     Allrighta!' 

Bai-Jove-Judson  had  been  exploding  at  intervals  for 
the  last  five  minutes.  Here  he  broke  down  completely 
and  roared  aloud. 

'But  look  here,  Governor,'  he  said  at  last,  '  I've  got  to 
think  of  other  things  than  your  riots  in  Europe.  You've 
fired  on  our  flag.' 

'  Captain,  if  you  are  me,  you  would  have  done  how? 
And  also,  and  also,'  he  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height, 
'we  are  both  brave  men  of  bravest  countries.  Our 
honour  is  the  honour  of  our  King,'  here  he  uncovered, 
'and  of  our  Queen,'  here  he  bowed  low.  'Now,  Captain, 
you  shall  shell  my  palace  and  I  will  be  your  prisoner.' 

'Skittles!'  said  Bai-Jove-Judson.  'I  can't  shell  that 
old  hen-coop.' 

'Then  come  to  dinner.  Madeira,  she  are  still  to  us, 
and  I  have  of  the  best  she  manufac' 

He  skipped  over  the  side  beaming,  and  Bai-Jove-Jud- 
son went  into  the  cabin  to  laugh  his  laugh  out.  When 
he  had  recovered  a  little  he  sent  Mr.  Davies  to  the  head 
of  the  Pioneers,  the  dusty  man  with  the  gatlings,  and 
the  troops  who  had  abandoned  the  pursuit  of  arms 
watched  the  disgraceful  spectacle  of  two  men  reeling 
with  laughter  on  the  quarter-deck  of  a  gunboat. 

'  I'll  put  my  men  to  build  him  a  custom-house,'  said 
the  head  of  the  Pioneers  gasping.  '  We'll  make  him  one 
decent  road  at  least.     That  Governor  ought  to  be 

316 


JUDSON  AND  THE  EMPIRE 

knighted.  I'm  glad  now  that  we  didn't  fight  'em  in  the 
open,  or  we'd  have  killed  some  of  them.  So  he's  won 
great  battles,  has  he?  Give  him  the  compliments  of  the 
victims,  and  tell  him  I'm  coming  to  dinner.  You  haven't 
such  a  thing  as  a  dress-suit,  have  you?  I  haven't  seen 
one  for  six  months.' 

That  evening  there  was  a  dinner  in  the  village — a 
general  and  enthusiastic  dinner,  whose  head  was  in 
the  Governor's  house,  and  whose  tail  threshed  at  large 
throughout  all  the  streets.  The  Madeira  was  every- 
thing that  the  Governor  had  said,  and  more,  and  it  was 
tested  against  two  or  three  bottles  of  Bai-Jove-Judson's 
best  Vanderhum,  which  is  Cape  brandy  ten  years  in  the 
bottle,  flavoured  with  orange-peel  and  spices.  Before 
the  coffee  was  removed  (by  the  lady  who  had  made  the 
flag  of  truce)  the  Governor  had  given  the  whole  of  his 
governorship  and  its  appurtenances,  once  to  Bai-Jove- 
Judson  for  services  rendered  by  Judson's  grandfather  in 
the  Peninsular  War,  and  once  to  the  head  of  the  Pioneers, 
in  consideration  of  that  gentleman's  good  friendship. 
After  the  negotiation  he  retreated  for  a  while  into  an 
inner  apartment,  and  there  evolved  a  true  and  complete 
account  of  the  defeat  of  the  English  arms,  which  he  read 
with  his  cocked  hat  over  one  eye  to  Judson  and  his  com- 
panion. It  was  Judson  who  suggested  the  sinking  of 
the  flat-iron  with  all  hands,  and  the  head  of  the  Pioneers 
who  supplied  the  list  of  killed  and  wounded  (not  more 
than  two  hundred)  in  his  command. 

'  Gentlemen,'  said  the  Governor  from  under  his  cocked 
hat,  'the  peace  of  Europe  are  saved  by  this  raporta. 
You  shall  all  be  Knights  of  the  Golden  Hide.  She  shall 
gobythe"Guadala."' 

*  Great  Heavens!'  said  Bai-Jove-Judson,  flushed  but 

317 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

composed.  'That  reminds  me  that  I've  left  that  boat 
stuck  on  her  broadside  down  the  river.  I  must  go  down 
and  soothe  the  commandante.  He'll  be  blue  with  rage. 
Governor,  let  us  go  a  sail  on  the  river  to  cool  our  heads. 
A  picnic,  you  understand.' 

'Ya — as:  everything  I  understand.  Ho!  A  picnica! 
You  are  all  my  prisoner,  but  I  am  a  good  gaoler.  We 
shall  picnic  on  the  river,  and  we  shall  take  all  the  girls. 
Come  on,  my  prisoners.' 

'I  do  hope,'  said  the  head  of  the  Pioneers,  staring 
from  the  veranda  into  the  roaring  village,  'that  my 
chaps  won't  set  the  town  alight  by  accident.  Hullo! 
Hullo !  A  guard  of  honour  for  His  Excellency,  the  most 
illustrious  Governor ! ' 

Some  thirty  men  answered  the  call,  made  a  swaying 
line  upon  a  more  swaying  course,  and  bore  the  Governor 
most  swayingly  of  all  high  in  their  arms  as  they  staggered 
down  to  the  river.  And  the  song  that  they  sang  bade 
them,  *  Swing,  swing  together,  their  body  between  their 
knees' ;  and  they  obeyed  the  words  of  the  song  faithfully, 
except  that  they  were  anything  but '  steady  from  stroke 
to  bow.'  His  Excellency  the  Governor  slept  on  his  un- 
easy litter,  and  did  not  wake  when  the  chorus  dropped 
him  on  the  deck  of  the  flat-iron. 

*  Good-night  and  good-bye,'  said  the  head  of  the  Pio- 
neers to  Judson.  '  I'd  give  you  my  card  if  I  had  it,  but 
I'm  so  damned  drunk  I  hardly  know  my  own  Club.  Oh 
yes!  It's  the  Travellers.  If  ever  we  meet  in  town,  re- 
member me.  I  must  stay  here  and  look  after  my  fellows. 
We're  all  right  in  the  open,  now.  I  s'pose  you'll  return 
the  Governor  some  time.  This  is  a  political  crisis. 
Good-night.' 

The  flat-iron  went  down-stream  through  the  dark. 

318 


JUDSON  AND  THE  EMPIRE 

The  Governor  slept  on  deck,  and  Judson  took  the  wheel, 
but  how  he  steered,  and  why  he  did  not  run  into  each 
bank  many  times,  that  officer  does  not  remember.  Mr. 
Davies  did  not  note  anything  unusual,  for  there  are  two 
ways  of  taking  too  much,  and  Judson  was  only  ward- 
room, not  fo'c's'le  drunk.  As  the  night  grew  colder  the 
Governor  woke  up,  and  expressed  a  desire  for  whisky 
and  soda.  When  that  came  they  were  nearly  abreast  of 
the  stranded  'Guadala,'  and  His  Excellency  saluted  the 
flag  that  he  could  not  see  with  loyal  and  patriotic  strains. 

'  They  do  not  see.  They  do  not  hear,'  he  cried.  '  Ten 
thousand  saints!  They  sleep,  and  I  have  won  battles! 
Ha!' 

He  started  forward  to  the  gun,  which,  very  naturally, 
was  loaded,  pulled  the  lanyard,  and  woke  the  dead  night 
with  the  roar  of  the  full  charge  behind  a  common  shell. 
That  shell,  mercifully,  just  missed  the  stern  of  the  '  Gua- 
dala,' and  burst  on  the  bank.  'Now  you  shall  salute 
your  Governor,'  said  he,  as  he  heard  feet  running  in  all 
directions  within  the  iron  skin.  'Why  you  demand  so 
base  a  quarter?     I  am  here  with  all  my  prisoners.' 

In  the  hurly-burly  and  the  general  shriek  for  mercy 
his  reassurances  were  not  heard. 

'Captain,'  said  a  grave  voice  from  the  ship,  'we  have 
surrendered.  Is  it  the  custom  of  the  English  to  fire  on  a 
helpless  ship? ' 

*  Surrendered !  Holy  Virgin !  I  go  to  cut  off  all  their 
heads.  You  shall  be  ate  by  wild  ants — flog  and  drowned ! 
Throw  me  a  balcony.  It  is  I,  the  Governor!  You  shall 
never  surrender.  Judson  of  my  soul,  ascend  her  inside, 
and  send  me  a  bed,  for  I  am  sleepy;  but,  oh,  I  will  multi- 
ple time  kill  that  captain ! ' 

*0h!'  said  the  voice  in  the  darkness,  'I  begin  to  com- 

319 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

prehend.'  And  a  rope-ladder  was  thrown,  up  which  the 
Governor  scrambled,  with  Judson  at  his  heels. 

'Now  we  will  enjoy  executions,'  said  the  Governor  on 
the  deck.  'All  these  Republicans  shall  be  shot.  Little 
Judson,  if  I  am  not  drunk,  why  are  so  sloping  the  boards 
which  do  not  support?' 

The  deck,  as  I  have  said,  was  at  a  very  stifT  cant. 
His  Excellency  sat  down,  slid  to  leeward,  and  fell  asleep 
again. 

The  captain  of  the  'Guadala'  bit  his  moustache  furi- 
ously, and  muttered  in  his  own  tongue :  '  "This  land  is 
the  father  of  great  villains  and  the  step-father  of  honest 
men."  You  see  our  material.  Captain.  It  is  so  every- 
where with  us.  You  have  killed  some  of  the  rats,  I 
hope?' 

'Not  a  rat,'  said  Judson  genially. 

'  That  is  a  pity.  If  they  were  dead,  our  country  might 
send  us  men,  but  our  country  is  dead  too,  and  I  am  dis- 
honoured on  a  mud-bank  through  your  English  treachery. ' 

'  Well,  it  seems  to  me  that  firing  on  a  little  tub  of  our 
size  without  a  word  of  warning  when  you  knew  that  the 
countries  were  at  peace  is  treachery  enough  in  a  small 
way.' 

'  If  one  of  my  guns  had  touched  you,  you  would  have 
gone  to  the  bottom,  all  of  you.  I  would  have  taken  the 
risk  with  my  Government.  By  that  time  it  would  have 
been — ' 

*A  Republic.  So  you  really  did  mean  fighting  on 
your  own  hook!  You're  rather  a  dangerous  officer  to 
cut  loose  in  a  navy  like  yours.  Well,  what  are  you  go- 
ing to  do  now? ' 

*  Stay  here.  Go  away  in  boats.  What  does  it  matter? 
That  drunken  cat' — he  pointed  to  the  shadow  in  which 

320 


JUDSON  AND  THE  EMPIRE 

the  Governor  slept — 'is  here.     I  must  take  him  back  to 
his  hole.' 

'Very  good.  I'll  tow  you  off  at  daylight  if  you  get 
steam  up.' 

'Captain,  I  warn  you  that  as  soon  as  she  floats  again 
I  will  fight  you.' 

'  Humbug !  You'll  have  lunch  with  me,  and  then  you'll 
take  the  Governor  up  the  river.' 

The  captain  was  silent  for  some  time.  Then  he  said: 
'  Let  us  drink.  What  must  be,  must  be,  and  after  all  we 
have  not  forgotten  the  Peninsular.  You  will  admit, 
Captain,  that  it  is  bad  to  be  run  upon  a  shoal  like  a  mud- 
dredger?  ' 

*  Oh,  we'll  pull  you  off  before  you  can  say  knife.  Take 
care  of  His  Excellency.  I  shall  try  to  get  a  little  sleep 
now.' 

They  slept  on  both  ships  till  the  morning,  and  then 
the  work  of  towing  off  the  '  Guadala '  began.  With  the 
help  of  her  own  engines,  and  the  tugging  and  puffmg  of 
the  flat-iron,  she  slid  off  the  mud-bank  sideways  into 
deep  water,  the  flat-iron  immediately  under  her  stern, 
and  the  big  eye  of  the  four-inch  gun  almost  peering 
through  the  window  of  the  captain's  cabin. 

Remorse  in  the  shape  of  a  violent  headache  had  over- 
taken the  Governor.  He  was  uneasily  conscious  that  he 
might  perhaps  have  exceeded  his  powers,  and  the  cap- 
tain of  the  'Guadala,'  in  spite  of  all  his  patriotic  senti- 
ments, remembered  distinctly  that  no  war  had  been 
declared  between  the  two  countries.  He  did  not  need 
the  Governor's  repeated  reminders  that  war,  serious 
war,  meant  a  Republic  at  home,  possible  supersession  in 
his  command,  and  much  shooting  of  living  men  against 
dead  walls. 

321 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

*  We  have  satisfied  our  honour,'  said  the  Governor  in 
confidence.  'Our  army  is  appeased,  and  the  raporta 
that  you  take  home  will  show  that  we  were  loyal  and 
brave.  That  other  captain?  Bah!  He  is  a  boy.  He 
will  call  this  a — a — Judson  of  my  soul,  how  you  say  this 
is — all  this  affairs  which  have  transpirated  between  us? ' 

Judson  was  watching  the  last  hawser  slipping  through 
the  fairlead.  'Call  it?  Oh,  I  should  call  it  rather  a 
lark.  Now  your  boat's  all  right,  captain.  When  will 
you  come  to  lunch?' 

'I  told  you,'  said  the  Governor,  'it  would  be  a  larque 
to  him.' 

'Mother  of  the  Saints!  then  what  is  his  seriousness?' 
said  the  captain.  'We  shall  be  happy  to  come  when 
you  will.  Indeed,  we  have  no  other  choice,'  he  added 
bitterly. 

'Not  at  all,'  said  Judson,  and  as  he  looked  at  the  three 
or  four  shot-blisters  on  the  bows  of  his  boat  a  brilliant 
idea  took  him.  '  It  is  we  who  are  at  your  mercy.  See 
how  His  Excellency's  guns  knocked  us  about.' 

'Senor  Capitan,'  said  the  Governor  pityingly,  'that  is 
very  sad.  You  are  most  injured,  and  your  deck  too,  it 
is  all  shot  over.  We  shall  not  be  too  severe  on  a  beat 
man,  shall  we.  Captain?' 

'You  couldn't  spare  us  a  little  paint,  could  you?  I'd 
like  to  patch  up  a  little  after  the — action,'  said  Judson 
meditatively,  fingering  his  upper  lip  to  hide  a  smile. 

'Our  storeroom  is  at  your  disposition,'  said  the  cap- 
tain of  the  'Guadala,'  and  his  eye  brightened;  for  a  few 
lead  splashes  on  gray  paint  make  a  big  show. 

*Mr.  Davies,  go  aboard  and  see  what  they  have  to 
spare — to  spare,  remember.  Their  spar-colour  with  a 
little  working  up  should  be  just  our  freeboard  tint.' 

322 


JUDSON  AND  THE  EMPIRE 

'Oh  yes.  I'll  spare  them,'  said  Mr.  Davies  savagely. 
*  I  don't  understand  this  how-d'you-do  and  damn-your- 
eyes  business  coming  one  atop  of  the  other,  in  a  manner 
o'  speaking!  By  all  rights,  they're  our  lawful  prize, 
after  a  manner  o'  sayin'.' 

The  Governor  and  the  captain  came  to  lunch  in  the 
absence  of  Mr.  Davies.  Bai-Jove-Judson  had  not  much 
to  offer  them,  but  what  he  had  was  given  as  by  a  beaten 
foeman  to  a  generous  conqueror.  When  they  were  a 
little  warmed — the  Governor  genial  and  the  captain 
almost  effusive — he  explained  quite  casually  over  the 
opening  of  a  bottle  that  it  would  not  be  to  his  interest  to 
report  the  affair  seriously,  and  it  was  in  the  highest  de- 
gree improbable  that  the  Admiral  would  treat  it  in  any 
grave  fashion. 

'When  my  decks  are  cut  up'  (there  was  one  groove 
across  four  planks),  'and  my  plates  buckled'  (there  were 
five  lead  patches  on  three  plates),  'and  I  meet  such  a 
boat  as  the  "  Guadala,"  and  a  mere  accident  saves  me 
from  being  blown  out  of  the  water — ' 

*Yes.  A  mere  accident,  Captain.  The  shoal-buoy 
has  been  lost,'  said  the  captain  of  the  *  Guadala.' 

*  Ah?  I  do  not  know  this  river.  That  was  very  sad. 
But  as  I  was  saying,  when  an  accident  saves  me  from 
being  sunk,  what  can  I  do  but  go  away — if  that  is  possi- 
ble? But  I  fear  that  I  have  no  coal  for  the  sea-voyage. 
It  is  very  sad .'  Judson  had  compromised  on  what  he  knew 
of  the  French  tongue  as  a  medium  of  communication. 

'It  is  enough,'  said  the  Governor,  waving  a  generous 
hand.  'Judson  of  my  soul,  the  coal  is  yours  and  you 
shall  be  repaired — ^yes,  repaired  all  over,  of  your  battle's 
wounds.  You  shall  go  with  all  the  honours  of  all  the 
wars.    Your  flag  shall  fly.     Your  drum  shall  beat. 

323 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Your,  ah! — jolly-boys  shall  spoke  their  bayonets!     Is  it 
not  so,  Captain?' 

":  *As  you  say.  Excellency.     But  those  traders  in  the 
town.     What  of  them? ' 

The  Governor  looked  puzzled  for  an  instant.  He 
could  not  quite  remember  what  had  happened  to  those 
jovial  men  who  had  cheered  him  overnight.  Judson  in- 
terrupted swiftly:  'His  Excellency  has  set  them  to 
forced  works  on  barracks  and  magazines,  and,  I  think,  a 
custom-house.  When  that  is  done  they  will  be  released, 
I  hope.  Excellency.' 

'  Yes,  they  shall  be  released  for  your  sake,  little  Jud- 
son of  my  heart.'  Then  they  drank  the  health  of  their 
respective  sovereigns,  while  Mr.  Davies  superintended 
the  removal  of  the  scarred  plank  and  the  shot-marks  on 
the  deck  and  the  bow-plates. 

.  *0h,  this  is  too  bad,'  said  Judson  when  they  went  on 
deck.  'That  idiot  has  exceeded  his  instructions,  but — 
but  you  must  let  me  pay  for  this ! ' 

Mr.  Davies,  his  legs  in  the  water  as  he  sat  on  a  staging 
slung  over  the  bows,  was  acutely  conscious  that  he  was 
being  blamed  in  a  foreign  tongue.  He  twisted  uneasily, 
and  went  on  with  his  work. 

*  What  is  it? '  said  the  Governor. 

*That  thick-head  has  thought  that  we  needed  some 
gold-leaf,  and  he  has  borrowed  that  from  your  store- 
room, but  I  must  make  it  good.'  Then  in  English, 
*  Stand  up,  Mr.  Davies!  What  the  Furnace  in  Tophet 
do  you  mean  by  taking  their  gold-leaf?  My — ,  are  we 
a  set  of  hairy  pirates  to  scoff  the  storeroom  out  of  a 
painted  Levantine  bumboat.  Look  contrite,  you  butt- 
ended,  broad-breeched,  bottle-bellied,  swivel-eyed  son  of 
a  tinker,  you !    My  Soul  alive,  can't  I  maintain  discipline 

324 


JUDSON  AND  THE  EMPIRE 

in  my  own  ship  without  a  hired  blacksmith  of  a  boiler- 
riveter  putting  me  to  shame  before  a  yellow-nosed  pica- 
roon! Get  off  the  staking,  Mr.  Davies,  and  go  to  the 
engine-room!  Put  down  that  leaf  first,  though,  and 
leave  the  books  where  they  are.  I'll  send  for  you  in  a 
minute.     Go  aft!' 

Now,  only  the  upper  half  of  Mr.  Davies's  round  face 
was  above  the  bulwarks  when  this  torrent  of  abuse  de- 
scended upon  him;  and  it  rose  inch  by  inch  as  the  shower 
continued,  blank  amazement,  bewilderment,  rage,  and 
injured  pride  chasing  each  other  across  it  till  he  saw  his 
superior  officer's  left  eyelid  flutter  on  the  cheek  twice. 
Then  he  fled  to  the  engine-room,  and  wiping  his  brow 
with  a  handful  of  cotton-waste,  sat  down  to  overtake 
circumstances. 

'I  am  desolated,'  said  Judson  to  his  companions,  'but 
you  see  the  material  that  they  give  us.  This  leaves  me 
more  in  your  debt  than  before.  The  stuff  I  can  replace 
[gold-leaf  is  never  carried  on  floating  gun-platforms], 
'but  for  the  insolence  of  that  man  how  shall  I  apologise?' 

Mr.  Davies's  mind  moved  slowly,  but  after  a  while  he 
transferred  the  cotton-waste  from  his  forehead  to  his 
mouth  and  bit  on  it  to  prevent  laughter.  He  began  a 
second  dance  on  the  engine-room  plates.  'Neat!  Oh, 
damned  neat!'  he  chuckled.  'I've  served  with  a  good 
few,  but  there  never  was  one  so  neat  as  him»  And  I 
thought  he  was  the  new  kind  that  don't  know  how  to 
throw  a  few  words,  as  it  were.' 

*Mr.  Davies,  you  can  continue  your  work,'  said  Jud- 
son down  the  engine-room  hatch.  'These  officers  have 
been  good  enough  to  speak  in  your  favour.  Make  a 
thorough  job  of  it  while  you  are  about  it.  Slap  on  every 
man  you  have.     Where  did  you  get  hold  of  it? '       :  : 

325 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

*  Their  storeroom  is  a  regular  theatre,  sir.  You  couldn't 
miss  it.  There's  enough  for  two  first-rates,  and  I've 
scoffed  the  best  half  of  it.' 

'Look  sharp  then.  We  shall  be  coaling  from  her  this 
afternoon.     You'll  have  to  cover  it  all  up.' 

'Neat!  Oh,  damned  neat!'  said  Mr.  Davies  under 
his  breath,  as  he  gathered  his  subordinates  together,  and 
set  about  accomplishing  the  long-deferred  wish  of  Jud- 
son's  heart. 

It  was  the  'Martin  Frobisher,'  the  flagship,  a  great 
war-boat  when  she  was  new,  in  the  days  when  men  built 
for  sail  as  well  as  for  steam.  She  could  turn  twelve 
knots  under  full  sail,  and  it  was  under  that  that  she 
stood  up  the  mouth  of  the  river,  a  pyramid  of  silver  be- 
neath the  moon.  The  Admiral,  fearing  that  he  had  given 
Judson  a  task  beyond  his  strength,  was  coming  to  look 
for  him,  and  incidentally  to  do  a  little  diplomatic  work 
along  the  coast.  There  was  hardly  wind  enough  to 
move  the  'Frobisher'  a  couple  of  knots  an  hour,  and  the 
silence  of  the  land  closed  about  her  as  she  entered  the 
fairway.  Her  yards  sighed  a  little  from  time  to  time, 
and  the  ripple  under  her  bows  answered  the  sigh.  The 
full  moon  rose  over  the  steaming  swamps,  and  the  Ad- 
miral gazing  upon  it  thought  less  of  Judson  and  more  of 
the  softer  emotions.  In  answer  to  the  very  mood  of  his 
mind  there  floated  across  the  silver  levels  of  the  water, 
mellowed  by  distance  to  a  most  poignant  sweetness,  the 
throb  of  a  mandolin,  and  the  voice  of  one  who  called 
upon  a  genteel  Julia — upon  Julia,  and  upon  Love.  The 
song  ceased,  and  the  sighing  of  the  yards  was  all  that 
broke  the  silence  of  the  big  ship. 

Again  the  mandolin  began,  and  the  commander  on 

326 


JUDSON  AND  THE  EMPIRE 

the  lee  side  of  the  quarter-deck  grinned  a  grin  that  was 
reflected  in  the  face  of  the  signal-midshipman.  Not  a 
word  of  the  song  was  lost,  and  the  voice  of  the  singer 
was  the  voice  of  Judson. 

'  Last  week  down  our  alley  came  a  tolY, 
Nice  old  geyser  with  a  nasty  cough, 
Sees  my  missus,  takes  his  topper  off, 
Quite  in  a  gentlemanly  way ' — 

and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  verse.  The  chorus  was  borne 
by  several  voices,  and  the  signal-midshipman's  foot  be- 
gan to  tap  the  deck  furtively. 

'  "What  cheer!"  all  the  neighbours  cried. 
"  Oo  are  you  goin'  to  meet.  Bill? 
'Ave  you  bought  the  street.  Bill?" 
Laugh? — I  thought  I  should  ha'  died 
When  I  knocked  'em  in  the  Old  Kent  Road.' 

It  was  the  Admiral's  gig,  rowing  softly,  that  came  into 
the  midst  of  that  merry  little  smoking-concert.  It  was 
Judson,  with  the  beribboned  mandolin  round  his  neck, 
who  received  the  Admiral  as  he  came  up  the  side  of  the 
*  Guadala,'  and  it  may  or  may  not  have  been  the  Admiral 
who  stayed  till  three  in  the  morning  and  delighted  the 
hearts  of  the  captain  and  the  Governor.  He  had  come 
as  an  unbidden  guest,  and  he  departed  as  an  honoured 
one,  but  strictly  unofficial  throughout.  Judson  told  his 
tale  next  day  in  the  Admiral's  cabin  as  well  as  he  could 
in  the  face  of  the  Admiral's  gales  of  laughter;  but  the 
most  amazing  tale  was  that  told  by  Mr.  Davies  to  his 
friends  in  the  dockyard  at  Simon's  Town  from  the  point 

327 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

of  view  of  a  second-class  engine-room  artificer,  all  un- 
versed in  diplomacy. 

And  if  there  be  no  truth  either  in  my  tale,  which  is 
Judson's  tale,  or  the  tales  of  Mr.  Davies,  you  will  not 
fmd  in  harbour  at  Simon's  Town  to-day  a  flat-bottomed, 
twin-screw  gunboat,  designed  solely  for  the  defence  of 
rivers,  about  two  hundred  and  seventy  tons  displace- 
ment and  five  feet  draught,  wearing  in  open  defiance  of 
the  rules  of  the  Service  a  gold  line  on  her  gray  paint.  It 
follows  also  that  you  will  be  compelled  to  credit  that 
version  of  the  fray  which,  signed  by  His  Excellency  the 
Governor  and  despatched  in  the  'Guadala,'  satisfied  the 
self-love  of  a  great  and  glorious  people,  and  saved  a 
monarchy  from  the  ill-considered  despotism  which  is 
called  a  Republic. 


328 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

(1891) 

Though  thou  love  her  as  thyself, 
As  a  self  of  purer  clay,  ; 

Though  her  parting  dim  the  day, 
Stealing  grace  from  all  alive. 

Heartily  know 

When  half  Gods  go 
The  Gods  arrive. 

Emerson. 

THOUSANDS  of  years  ago,  when  men  were  greater 
than  they  are  to-day,  the  Children  of  the  Zodiac 
lived  in  the  world.  There  were  six  Children  of 
the  Zodiac — the  Ram,  the  Bull,  Leo,  the  Twins,  and 
the  Girl;  and  they  were  afraid  of  the  Six  Houses  which 
belonged  to  the  Scorpion,  the  Balance,  the  Crab,  the 
Fishes,  the  Archer,  and  the  Waterman.  Even  when 
they  first  stepped  down  upon  the  earth  and  knew  that 
they  were  immortal  Gods,  they  carried  this  fear  with 
them ;  and  the  fear  grew  as  they  became  better  acquainted 
with  mankind  and  heard  stories  of  the  Six  Houses. 
Men  treated  the  Children  as  Gods  and  came  to  them 
with  prayers  and  long  stories  of  wrong,  while  the  Children 
of  the  Zodiac  listened  and  could  not  uiiderstatid.  ' 

A  mother  would  fling  herself  before  the  feet  of  the 

329 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Twins,  or  the  Bull,  crying: ' My  husband  was  at  work  in 
the  fields  and  the  Archer  shot  him  and  he  died;  and  my 
son  will  also  be  killed  by  the  Archer.  Help  me!'  The 
Bull  would  lower  his  huge  head  and  answer:  *What  is 
that  to  me?'  Or  the  Twins  would  smile  and  continue 
their  play,  for  they  could  not  understand  why  the  water 
ran  out  of  people's  eyes.  At  other  times  a  man  and  a 
woman  would  come  to  Leo  or  the  Girl  crying:  'We  two 
are  newly  married  and  we  are  very  happy.  Take  these 
flowers.'  As  they  threw  the  flowers  they  would  make 
mysterious  sounds  to  show  that  they  were  happy,  and 
Leo  and  the  Girl  wondered  even  more  than  the  Twins 
why  people  shouted  '  Ha !  ha !  ha ! '  for  no  cause. 

This  continued  for  thousands  of  years  by  human  reck- 
oning, till  on  a  day,  Leo  met  the  Girl  walking  across 
the  hills  and  saw  that  she  had  changed  entirely  since  he 
had  last  seen  her.  The  Girl,  looking  at  Leo,  saw  that 
he  too  had  changed  altogether.  Then  they  decided 
that  it  would  be  well  never  to  separate  again,  in  case 
even  more  startling  changes  should  occur  when  the  one 
was  not  at  hand  to  help  the  other.  Leo  kissed  the  Girl 
and  all  Earth  felt  that  kiss,  and  the  Girl  sat  down  on  a 
hill  and  the  water  ran  out  of  her  eyes ;  and  this  had  never 
happened  before  in  the  memory  of  the  Children  of  the 
Zodiac. 

As  they  sat  together  a  man  and  a  woman  came  by, 
and  the  man  said  to  the  woman : 

*  What  is  the  use  of  wasting  flowers  on  those  dull  Gods? 
They  will  never  understand,  darling.' 

The  Girl  jumped  up  and  put  her  arms  round  the  wo- 
man, crying,  *  I  understand.  Give  me  the  flowers  and  I 
will  give  you  a  kiss.' 

Leo  said  beneath  his  breath  to  the  man:  *What  was 

330 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

the  new  name  that  I  heard  you  give  to  your  woman  just 
now?' 

The  man  answered,  *Darhng,  of  course.' 

'Why  "of  course"?'  said  Leo;  'and  if  of  course,  what 
does  it  mean?' 

'It  means  "very  dear,"  and  you  have  only  to  look  at 
your  wife  to  see  why.' 

'I  see,'  said  Leo;  'you  are  quite  right';  and  when  the 
man  and  the  woman  had  gone  on  he  called  the  Girl '  dar- 
ling wife' ;  and  the  Girl  wept  again  from  sheer  happiness. 

'I  think,'  she  said  at  last,  wiping  her  eyes,  'I  think 
that  we  two  have  neglected  men  and  women  too  much. 
What  did  you  do  with  the  sacrifices  they  made  to  you, 
Leo?' 

'I  let  them  burn,'  said  Leo;  'I  could  not  eat  them. 
What  did  you  do  with  the  flowers? ' 

*  I  let  them  wither.  I  could  not  wear  them,  I  had  so 
many  of  my  own,'  said  the  Girl,  'and  now  I  am  sorry.' 

'There  is  nothing  to  grieve  for,'  said  Leo;  'we  belong 
to  each  other.' 

As  they  were  talking  the  years  of  men's  life  slipped  by 
unnoticed,  and  presently  the  man  and  the  woman  came 
back,  both  white-headed,  the  man  carrying  the  woman. 

'We  have  come  to  the  end  of  things,'  said  the  man 
quietly.     '  This  that  was  my  wife — ' 

'As  I  am  Leo's  wife,'  said  the  Girl  quickly,  her  eyes 
staring. 

' — was  my  wife,  has  been  killed  by  one  of  your  Houses.' 
The  man  set  down  his  burden,  and  laughed. 

'  Which  House? '  said  Leo  angrily,  for  he  hated  all  the 
Houses  equally. 

'You  are  Gods,  you  should  know,'  said  the  man. 
*W^e  have  lived  together  and  loved  one  another,  and  I 

331 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

have  left  a  good  farm  for  my  son.     What  have  I  to  com- 
plain of  except  that  I  still  live? ' 

As  he  was  bending  over  his  wife's  body  there  came  a 
whistling  through  the  air,  and  he  started  and  tried  to 
run  away,  crying,  'It  is  the  arrow  of  the  Archer.  Let 
me  live  a  little  longer — only  a  little  longer!'  The  arrow 
struck  him  and  he  died.  Leo  looked  at  the  Girl  and  she 
looked  at  him,  and  both  were  puzzled. 

' He  wished  to  die,'  said  Leo.  '  He  said  that  he  wished 
to  die,  and  when  Death  came  he  tried  to  run  away.  He 
is  a  coward.' 

*No,  he  is  not,'  said  the  Girl;  'I  think  I  feel  what  he 
felt.     Leo,  we  must  learn  more  about  this  for  their  sakes.' 

'For  their  sakes,'  said  Leo,  very  loudly. 

'Because  we  are  never  going  to  die,'  said  the  Girl  and 
Leo  together,  still  more  loudly. 

'Now  sit  you  still  here,  darling  wife,'  said  Leo,  'while 
I  go  to  the  Houses  whom  we  hate,  and  learn  how  to  make 
these  men  and  women  live  as  we  do.' 

'And  love  as  we  do,'  said  the  Girl. 

*  I  do  not  think  they  need  to  be  taught  that,'  said  Leo, 
and  he  strode  away  very  angry,  with  his  lion-skin  swing- 
ing from  his  shoulder,  till  he  came  to  the  House  where 
the  Scorpion  lives  in  the  darkness,  brandishing  his  tail 
over  his  back. 

'Why  do  you  trouble  the  children  of  men?'  said  Leo, 
with  his  heart  between  his  teeth. 

'Are  you  so  sure  that  I  trouble  the  children  of  men 
alone?'  said  the  Scorpion.  'Speak  to  your  brother  the 
Bull,  and  see  what  he  says.' 

'I  come  on  behalf  of  the  children  of  men,'  said  Leo. 
*I  have  learned  to  love  as  they  do,  and  I  wish  them  to 
live  as  I — as  we  do.' 

332 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

*  Your  wish  was  granted  long  ago.  Speak  to  the  Bull. 
He  is  under  my  special  care,'  said  the  Scorpion. 

Leo  dropped  back  to  the  earth  again,  and  saw  the 
great  star  Aldebaran,  that  is  set  in  the  forehead  of  the 
Bull,  blazing  very  near  to  the  earth.  When  he  came  up 
to  it  he  saw  that  his  brother  the  Bull,  yoked  to  a  country- 
man's plough,  was  toiling  through  a  wet  rice-field  with 
his  head  bent  down,  and  the  sweat  streaming  from  his 
flanks.  The  countryman  was  urging  him  forward  with 
a  goad. 

*Gore  that  insolent  to  death,'  cried  Leo,  'and  for  the 
sake  of  our  honour  come  out  of  the  mire.' 

'I  cannot,'  said  the  Bull,  'the  Scorpion  has  told  me 
that  some  day,  of  which  I  cannot  be  sure,  he  will  sting 
me  where  my  neck  is  set  on  my  shoulders,  and  that  I 
shall  die  bellowing.' 

*  What  has  that  to  do  with  this  disgraceful  work?'  said 
Leo,  standing  on  the  dyke  that  bounded  the  wet  field. 

'Everything.  This  man  could  not  plough  without 
my  help.     He  thinks  that  I  am  a  stray  beast.' 

'But  he  is  a  mud-crusted  cottar  with  matted  hair,'  in- 
sisted Leo.     '  We  are  not  meant  for  his  use.' 

'You  may  not  be.  I  am.  I  cannot  tell  when  the 
Scorpion  may  choose  to  sting  me  to  death — perhaps  be- 
fore I  have  turned  this  furrow.'  The  Bull  flung  his  bulk 
into  the  yoke,  and  the  plough  tore  through  the  wet 
ground  behind  him,  and  the  countryman  goaded  him  till 
his  flanks  were  red. 

'Do  you  like  this?'  Leo  called  down  the  dripping  fur- 
rows. 

'No,'  said  the  Bull  over  his  shoulder  as  he  lifted  his 
hind  legs  from  the  clinging  mud  and  cleared  his  nostrils. 

Leo  left  him  scornfully  and  passed  to  another  country, 

333 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

where  he  found  his  brother  the  Ram  in  the  centre  of  a 
crowd  of  country  people  who  were  hanging  wreaths 
round  his  neck  and  feeding  him  on  freshly-plucked  green 
corn. 

'This  is  terrible,'  said  Leo.  'Break  up  that  crowd 
and  come  away,  my  brother.  Their  hands  are  spoiling 
your  fleece.' 

'I  cannot,'  said  the  Ram.  'The  Archer  told  me  that 
on  some  day  of  which  I  had  no  knowledge,  he  would 
send  a  dart  through  me,  and  that  I  should  die  in  very 
great  pain.' 

'What  has  that  to  do  with  this  disgraceful  show?' 
said  Leo,  but  he  did  not  speak  as  confidently  as  before. 

'Everything  in  the  world,'  said  the  Ram.  'These 
people  never  saw  a  perfect  sheep  before.  They  think 
that  I  am  a  stray,  and  they  will  carry  me  from  place  to 
place  as  a  model  to  all  their  flocks.' 

'But  they  are  greasy  shepherds;  we  are  not  intended 
to  amuse  them,'  said  Leo. 

'You  may  not  be,  I  am,'  said  the  Ram.  '  I  cannot  tell 
when  the  Archer  may  choose  to  send  his  arrow  at  me — 
perhaps  before  the  people  a  mile  down  the  road  have 
seen  me.'  The  Ram  lowered  his  head  that  a  yokel 
newly  arrived  might  throw  a  wreath  of  wild  garlic-leaves 
over  it,  and  waited  patiently  while  the  farmers  tugged 
his  fleece. 

*  Do  you  like  this?'  cried  Leo  over  the  shoulders  of  the 
crowd. 

*No,'  said  the  Ram,  as  the  dust  of  the  tramphng  feet 
made  him  sneeze,  and  he  snuffed  at  the  fodder  piled  be- 
fore him. 

Leo  turned  back  intending  to  retrace  his  steps  to  the 
Houses,  but  as  he  was  passing  down  a  street  he  saw  two 

334 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

small  children,  very  dusty,  rolling  outside  a  cottage 
door,  and  playing  with  a  cat.     They  were  the  Twins. 

'  What  are  you  doing  here? '  said  Leo,  indignant. 

'Playing,'  said  the  Twins  calmly. 

'Cannot  you  play  on  the  banks  of  the  Milky  Way?' 
said  Leo. 

'  We  did,'  said  they,  '  till  the  Fishes  swam  down  and 
told  us  that  some  day  they  would  come  for  us  and  not 
hurt  us  at  all  and  carry  us  away.  So  now  we  are  play- 
ing at  being  babies  down  here.     The  people  like  it.' 

'  Do  you  like  it? '  said  Leo. 

*No,'  said  the  Twins,  'but  there  are  no  cats  in  the 
Milky  Way,'  and  they  pulled  the  cat's  tail  thoughtfully. 
A  woman  came  out  of  the  doorway  and  stood  behind 
them,  and  Leo  saw  in  her  face  a  look  that  he  had  some- 
times seen  in  the  Girl's. 

'She  thinks  that  we  are  foundlings,'  said  the  Twins, 
and  they  trotted  indoors  to  the  evening  meal. 

Then  Leo  hurried  as  swiftly  as  possible  to  all  the 
Houses  one  after  another;  for  he  could  not  understand 
the  new  trouble  that  had  come  to  his  brethren.  He  spoke 
to  the  Archer,  and  the  Archer  assured  him  that  so  far  as 
that  House  was  concerned  Leo  had  nothing  to  fear.  The 
Waterman,  the  Fishes,  and  the  Scorpion  gave  the  same 
answer.  They  knew  nothing  of  Leo,  and  cared  less.  They 
were  the  Houses,  and  they  were  busied  in  killing  men. 

At  last  he  came  to  that  very  dark  House  where  Cancer 
the  Crab  lies  so  still  that  you  might  think  he  was  asleep 
if  you  did  not  see  the  ceaseless  play  and  winnowing  mo- 
tion of  the  feathery  branches  round  his  mouth.  That 
movement  never  ceases.  It  is  like  the  eating  of  a 
smothered  fire  into  rotten  timber  in  that  it  is  noiseless 
and  without  haste. 

335 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Leo  stood  in  front  of  the  Crab,  and  the  half  darkness 
allowed  him  a  glimpse  of  that  vast  blue-black  back  and 
the  motionless  eyes.  Now  and  again  he  thought  that 
he  heard  some  one  sobbing,  but  the  noise  was  very  faint. 

'Why  do  you  trouble  the  children  of  men?'  said  Leo. 
There  was  no  answer,  and  against  his  will  Leo  cried, 
*  Why  do  you  trouble  us?  What  have  we  done  that  you 
should  trouble  us?' 

This  time  Cancer  replied,  '  What  do  I  know  or  care? 
You  were  born  into  my  House,  and  at  the  appointed 
time  I  shall  come  for  you.' 

*  When  is  the  appointed  time? '  said  Leo,  stepping  back 
from  the  restless  movement  of  the  mouth. 

'  When  the  full  moon  fails  to  call  the  full  tide,'  said  the 
Crab,  'I  shall  come  for  the  one.  When  the  other  has 
taken  the  earth  by  the  shoulders,  I  shall  take  that  other 
by  the  throat.' 

Leo  lifted  his  hand  to  the  apple  of  his  throat,  moist- 
ened his  lips,  and  recovering  himself,  said : 

' Must  I  be  afraid  for  two,  then?' 

'For  two,'  said  the  Crab,  'and  as  many  more  as  may 
come  after.' 

'My  brother,  the  Bull,  had  a  better  fate,'  said  Leo, 
sullenly;  'he  is  alone.' 

A  hand  covered  his  mouth  before  he  could  finish  the 
sentence,  and  he  found  the  Girl  in  his  arms.  Woman- 
like, she  had  not  stayed  where  Leo  had  left  her,  but  had 
hastened  off  at  once  to  know  the  worst,  and  passing  all 
the  other  Houses,  had  come  straight  to  Cancer. 

'That  is  fooUsh,'  said  the  Girl,  whispering.  'I  have 
been  waiting  in  the  dark  for  long  and  long  before  you 
came.  Then  I  was  afraid.  But  now — '  She  put  her  head 
down  on  his  shoulder  and  sighed  a  sigh  of  contentment. 

336 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

'I  am  afraid  now,'  said  Leo. 

'That  is  on  my  account,'  said  the  Girl.  '  I  know  it  is, 
because  I  am  afraid  for  your  sake.     Let  us  go,  husband.' 

They  went  out  of  the  darkness  together  and  came 
back  to  the  Earth,  Leo  very  silent,  and  the  Girl  striving 
to  cheer  him.  '  My  brother's  fate  is  the  better  one,'  Leo 
would  repeat  from  time  to  time,  and  at  last  he  said: 
'  Let  us  each  go  our  own  way  and  live  alone  till  we  die. 
We  were  born  into  the  House  of  Cancer,  and  he  will 
come  for  us.' 

'  I  know;  I  know.  But  where  shall  I  go?  And  where 
will  you  sleep  in  the  evening?  But  let  us  try.  I  will 
stay  here.     Do  you  go  on? ' 

Leo  took  six  steps  forward  very  slowly,  and  three  long 
steps  backward  very  quickly,  and  the  third  step  set  him 
again  at  the  Girl's  side.  This  time  it  was  she  who  was 
begging  him  to  go  away  and  leave  her,  and  he  was  forced 
to  comfort  her  all  through  the  night.  That  night  de- 
cided them  both  never  to  leave  each  other  for  an  instant, 
and  when  they  had  come  to  this  decision  they  looked 
back  at  the  darkness  of  the  House  of  Cancer  high  above 
their  heads,  and  with  their  arms  round  each  other's  neck 
laughed,  'Ha!  ha!  ha!'  exactly  as  the  children  of  men 
laughed.  And  that  was  the  first  time  in  their  lives  that 
they  had  ever  laughed. 

Next  morning  they  returned  to  their  proper  home, 
and  saw  the  flowers  and  the  sacrifices  that  had  been  laid 
before  their  doors  by  the  villagers  of  the  hills.  Leo 
stamped  down  the  fire  with  his  heel,  and  the  Girl  flung 
the  flower-wreaths  out  of  sight,  shuddering  as  she  did  so. 
When  the  villagers  returned,  as  of  custom,  to  see  what 
had  become  of  their  offerings,  they  found  neither  roses 
nor  burned  flesh  on  the  altars,  but  only  a  man  and  a  wo- 

337 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

man,  with  frightened  white  faces,  sitting  hand  in  hand 
on  the  altar-steps. 

'Are  you  not  Virgo?'  said  a  woman  to  the  Girl.  'I 
sent  you  flowers  yesterday.' 

'Little  sister,'  said  the  Girl,  flushing  to  her  forehead, 
*do  not  send  any  more  flowers,  for  I  am  only  a  woman 
like  yourself.'  The  man  and  the  woman  went  away 
doubtfully. 

'Now,  what  shall  we  do?'  said  Leo. 

'We  must  try  to  be  cheerful,  I  think,'  said  the  Girl. 
*  We  know  the  very  worst  that  can  happen  to  us,  but  we 
do  not  know  the  best  that  love  can  bring  us.  We  have 
a  great  deal  to  be  glad  of.' 

'The  certainty  of  death,'  said  Leo. 

'  All  the  children  of  men  have  that  certainty  also ;  yet 
they  laughed  long  before  we  ever  knew  how  to  laugh. 
We  must  learn  to  laugh,  Leo.  We  have  laughed  once 
already.' 

People  who  consider  themselves  Gods,  as  the  Children 
of  the  Zodiac  did,  find  it  hard  to  laugh,  because  the  Im- 
mortals know  nothing  worth  laughter  or  tears.  Leo 
rose  up  with  a  very  heavy  heart,  and  he  and  the  Girl 
together  went  to  and  fro  among  men ;  their  new  fear  of 
death  behind  them.  First  they  laughed  at  a  naked  baby 
attempting  to  thrust  its  fat  toes  into  its  foolish  pink 
mouth;  next  they  laughed  at  a  kitten  chasing  her  own 
tail;  and  then  they  laughed  at  a  boy  trying  to  steal  a  kiss 
from  a  girl,  and  getting  his  ears  boxed.  Lastly,  they 
laughed  because  the  wind  blew  in  their  faces  as  they  ran 
down  a  hill-side  together,  and  broke  panting  and  breath- 
less into  a  knot  of  villagers  at  the  bottom.  The  villagers 
laughed  too  at  their  flying  clothes  and  wind-reddened 
faces;  and  in  the  evening  gave  them  food  and  invited 

338 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

them  to  a  dance  on  the  grass,  where  everybody  laughed 
through  the  mere  joy  of  being  able  to  dance. 

That  night  Leo  jumped  up  from  the  Girl's  side  crying: 
'Every  one  of  those  people  we  met  just  now  will  die — ' 

*  So  shall  we,'  said  the  Girl  sleepily.  '  Lie  down  again, 
dear.'    Leo  could  not  see  that  her  face  was  wet  with  tears. 

But  Leo  was  up  and  far  across  the  fields,  driven  for- 
ward by  the  fear  of  death  for  himself  and  for  the  Girl, 
who  was  dearer  to  him  than  himself.  Presently  he  came 
across  the  Bull  drowsing  in  the  moonlight  after  a  hard 
day's  work,  and  looking  through  half-shut  eyes  at  the 
beautiful  straight  furrows  that  he  had  made. 

'Ho!'  said  the  Bull,  'so  you  have  been  told  these 
things  too.     Which  of  the  Houses  holds  your  death? ' 

Leo  pointed  upwards  to  the  dark  House  of  the  Crab  and 
groaned.     *  And  he  will  come  for  the  Girl  too,'  he  said. 

'Well,'  said  the  Bull,  'what  will  you  do?' 

Leo  sat  down  on  the  dyke  and  said  that  he  did  not  know. 

*  You  cannot  pull  a  plough,'  said  the  Bull,  with  a  little 
touch  of  contempt.  *  I  can,  and  that  prevents  me  from 
thinking  of  the  Scorpion.' 

Leo  was  angry  and  said  nothing  till  the  dawn  broke, 
and  the  cultivator  came  to  yoke  the  Bull  to  his  work. 

'Sing,'  said  the  Bull,  as  the  stiff  muddy  ox-bow  creaked 
and  strained.  'My  shoulder  is  galled.  Sing  one  of  the 
songs  that  we  sang  when  we  thought  we  were  all  Gods  to- 
gether.' 

Leo  stepped  back  into  the  cane-brake  and  lifted  up 
his  voice  in  a  song  of  the  Children  of  the  Zodiac — the 
war-whoop  of  the  young  Gods  who  are  afraid  of  nothing. 
At  first  he  dragged  the  song  along  unwillingly,  and  then 
the  song  dragged  him,  and  his  voice  rolled  across  the 
fields,  and  the  Bull  stepped  to  the  tune,  and  the  cultiva- 

339 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

tor  banged  his  flanks  out  of  sheer  Hght-heartedness,  and 
the  furrows  rolled  away  behind  the  plough  more  and 
more  swiftly.  Then  the  Girl  came  across  the  fields  look- 
ing for  Leo  and  found  him  singing  in  the  cane.  She 
joined  her  voice  to  his,  and  the  cultivator's  wife  brought 
her  spinning  into  the  open  and  listened  with  all  her  chil- 
dren round  her.  When  it  was  time  for  the  nooning,  Leo 
and  the  Girl  had  sung  themselves  both  thirsty  and  hun- 
gry, but  the  cultivator  and  his  wife  gave  them  rye-bread 
and  milk  and  many  thanks,  and  the  Bull  found  occasion 
to  say :  '  You  have  helped  me  to  do  a  full  half-field  more 
than  I  should  have  done.  But  the  hardest  part  of  the 
day  is  to  come,  brother.' 

Leo  wished  to  lie  down  and  brood  over  the  words  of 
the  Crab.  The  Girl  went  away  to  talk  to  the  cultiva- 
tor's wife  and  baby,  and  the  afternoon  ploughing  began. 

*Help  us  now,'  said  the  Bull.  'The  tides  of  the  day 
are  running  down.  My  legs  are  very  stiff.  Sing  if  you 
never  sang  before.' 

*  To  a  mud-spattered  villager? '  said  Leo. 

'He  is  under  the  same  doom  as  ourselves.  Are  you  a 
coward?'  said  the  Bull.  Leo  flushed  and  began  again 
with  a  sore  throat  and  a  bad  temper.  Little  by  little  he 
dropped  away  from  the  songs  of  the  Children  and  made 
up  a  song  as  he  went  along;  and  this  was  a  thing  he  could 
never  have  done  had  he  not  met  the  Crab  face  to  face. 
He  remembered  facts  concerning  cultivators,  and  bul- 
locks, and  rice-fields,  that  he  had  not  particularly  noticed 
before  the  interview,  and  he  strung  them  all  together, 
growing  more  interested  as  he  sang,  and  he  told  the  cul- 
tivator much  more  about  himself  and  his  work  than  the 
cultivator  knew.  The  Bull  grunted  approval  as  he  toiled 
down  the  furrows  for  the  last  time  that  day,  and  the  song 

340 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

ended,  leaving  the  cultivator  with  a  very  good  opinion 
of  himself  in  his  aching  bones.  The  Girl  came  out  of  the 
hut  where  she  had  been  keeping  the  children  quiet,  and 
talking  woman-talk  to  the  wife,  and  they  all  ate  the  even- 
ing meal  together. 

'Now  yours  must  be  a  very  pleasant  life,'  said  the  cul- 
tivator, '  sitting  as  you  do  on  a  dyke  all  day  and  singing 
just  what  comes  into  your  head.  Have  you  been  at  it 
long,  you  two — gipsies?' 

'Ah!'  lowed  the  Bull  from  his  byre.  'That's  all  the 
thanks  you  will  ever  get  from  men,  brother.' 

'No.  We  have  only  just  begun  it,'  said  the  Girl;  'but 
we  are  going  to  keep  to  it  as  long  as  we  live.  Are  we  not, 
Leo?' 

'Yes,'  said  he,  and  they  went  away  hand-in-hand. 

'You  can  sing  beautifully,  Leo,'  said  she,  as  a  wife  will 
to  her  husband. 

'  What  were  you  doing? '  said  he. 

'  I  was  talking  to  the  mother  and  the  babies,'  she  said. 
'  You  would  not  understand  the  little  things  that  make 
us  women  laugh.' 

'  And — and  I  am  to  go  on  with  this — this  gipsy- work? ' 
said  Leo. 

'Yes,  dear,  and  I  will  help  you.' 

There  is  no  written  record  of  the  life  of  Leo  and  of  the 
Girl,  so  we  cannot  tell  how  Leo  took  to  his  new  employ- 
ment which  he  detested.  We  are  only  sure  that  the  Girl 
loved  him  when  and  wherever  he  sang;  even  when,  after 
the  song  was  done,  she  went  round  with  the  equivalent 
of  a  tambourine,  and  collected  the  pence  for  the  daily 
bread.  There  were  times  too  when  it  was  Leo's  very 
hard  task  to  console  the  Girl  for  the  indignity  of  horrible 
praise  that  people  gave  him  and  her — for  the  silly  wag- 

341 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

ging  peacock  feathers  that  they  stuck  in  his  cap,  and  the 
buttons  and  pieces  of  cloth  that  they  sewed  on  his  coat. 
Woman-like,  she  could  advise  and  help  to  the  end,  but 
the  meanness  of  the  means  revolted. 

'What  does  it  matter,'  Leo  would  say,  'so  long  as  the 
songs  make  them  a  little  happier? '  And  they  would  go 
down  the  road  and  begin  again  on  the  old,  old  refrain : 
that  whatever  came  or  did  not  come  the  children  of  men 
must  not  be  afraid.  It  was  heavy  teaching  at  first,  but 
in  process  of  years  Leo  discovered  that  he  could  make 
men  laugh  and  hold  them  listening  to  him  even  when 
the  rain  fell.  Yet  there  were  people  who  would  sit  down 
and  cry  softly,  though  the  crowd  was  yelling  with  de- 
light, and  there  were  people  who  maintained  that  Leo 
made  them  do  this;  and  the  Girl  would  talk  to  them  in 
the  pauses  of  the  performance  and  do  her  best  to  com- 
fort them.  People  would  die  too,  while  Leo  was  talking 
and  singing,  and  laughing,  for  the  Archer,  and  the  Scor- 
pion, and  the  Crab,  and  the  other  Houses  were  as  busy 
as  ever.  Sometimes  the  crowd  broke,  and  were  frightened, 
and  Leo  strove  to  keep  them  steady  by  telling  them 
that  this  was  cowardly;  and  sometimes  they  mocked  at 
the  Houses  that  were  killing  them,  and  Leo  explained 
that  this  was  even  more  cowardly  than  running  away. 

In  their  wanderings  they  came  across  the  Bull,  or  the 
Ram,  or  the  Twins,  but  all  were  too  busy  to  do  more 
than  nod  to  each  other  across  the  crowd,  and  go  on  with 
their  work.  As  the  years  rolled  on  even  that  recogni- 
tion ceased,  for  the  Children  of  the  Zodiac  had  forgotten 
that  they  had  ever  been  Gods  working  for  the  sake  of 
men.  The  star  Aldebaran  was  crusted  with  caked  dirt 
on  the  Bull's  forehead,  the  Ram's  fleece  was  dusty  and 
torn,  and  the  Twins  were  only  babies  fighting  over  the 

342 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

cat  on  the  doorstep.  It  was  then  that  Leo  said : '  Let  us 
stop  singing  and  making  jokes.'  And  it  was  then  that 
the  Girl  said:  'No—'  but  she  did  not  know  why  she  said 
'No'  so  energetically.  Leo  maintained  that  it  was  per- 
versity, till  she  herself,  at  the  end  of  a  dusty  day,  made 
the  same  suggestion  to  him,  and  he  said  'most  certainly 
not,'  and  they  quarrelled  miserably  between  the  hedge- 
rows, forgetting  the  meaning  of  the  stars  above  them. 
Other  singers  and  other  talkers  sprang  up  in  the  course 
of  the  years,  and  Leo,  forgetting  that  there  could  never 
be  too  many  of  these,  hated  them  for  dividing  the  ap- 
plause of  the  children  of  men,  which  he  thought  should 
be  all  his  own.  The  Girl  would  grow  angry  too,  and 
then  the  songs  would  be  broken,  and  the  jests  fall  flat 
for  weeks  to  come,  and  the  children  of  men  would  shout : 
'  Go  home,  you  two  gipsies.  Go  home  and  learn  some- 
thing worth  singing ! ' 

After  one  of  these  sorrowful  shameful  days,  the  Girl, 
walking  by  Leo's  side  through  the  fields,  saw  the  full 
moon  coming  up  over  the  trees,  and  she  clutched  Leo's 
arm,  crying : '  The  time  has  come  now.  Oh,  Leo,  forgive 
me!' 

*  What  is  it? '  said  Leo.  He  was  thinking  of  the  other 
singers. 

*My  husband!'  she  answered,  and  she  laid  his  hand 
upon  her  breast,  and  the  breast  that  he  knew  so  well  was 
hard  as  stone.  Leo  groaned,  remembering  what  the 
Crab  had  said. 

*  Surely  we  were  Gods  once,'  he  cried. 

'  Surely  we  are  Gods  still,'  said  the  Girl.  '  Do  you  not 
remember  when  you  and  I  went  to  the  house  of  the  Grab 
and — were  not  very  much  afraid?    And  since  then 

...     we  have  forgotten  what  we  were  singing  for 

343 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

— we  sang  for  the  pence,  and,  oh,  we  fought  for  them ! — 
We,  who  are  the  Children  of  the  Zodiac' 

'  It  was  my  fault,'  said  Leo. 

'How  can  there  be  any  fault  of  yours  that  is  not  mine 
too? '  said  the  Girl.  '  My  time  has  come,  but  you  will 
live  longer,  and  .  .  .'  The  look  in  her  eyes  said  all 
she  could  not  say. 

'Yes,  I  will  remember  that  we  are  Gods,'  said  Leo. 

It  is  very  hard,  even  for  a  child  of  the  Zodiac,  who  has 
forgotten  his  Godhead,  to  see  his  wife  dying  slowly  and 
to  know  that  he  cannot  help  her.  The  Girl  told  Leo  in 
those  last  months  of  all  that  she  had  said  and  done  among 
the  wives  and  the  babies  at  the  back  of  the  roadside  per- 
formances, and  Leo  was  astonished  that  he  knew  so  little 
of  her  who  had  been  so  much  to  him.  When  she  was 
dying  she  told  him  never  to  fight  for  pence  or  quarrel 
with  the  other  singers;  and,  above  all,  to  go  on  with  his 
singing  immediately  after  she  was  dead. 

Then  she  died,  and  after  he  had  buried  her  he  went 
down  the  road  to  a  village  that  he  knew,  and  the  people 
hoped  that  he  would  begin  quarrelling  with  a  new  singer 
that  had  sprung  up  while  he  had  been  away.  But  Leo 
called  him  'my  brother.'  The  new  singer  was  newly 
married — and  Leo  knew  it — and  when  he  had  finished 
singing,  Leo  straightened  himself  and  sang  the  '  Song  of 
the  Girl,'  which  he  had  made  coming  down  the  road. 
Every  man  who  was  married  or  hoped  to  be  married, 
whatever  his  rank  or  colour,  understood  that  song — 
even  the  bride  leaning  on  the  new  husband's  arm  under- 
stood it  too — and  presently  when  the  song  ended,  and 
Leo's  heart  was  bursting  in  him,  the  men  sobbed.  '  That 
was  a  sad  tale,'  they  said  at  last,  'now  make  us  laugh.' 
Because  Leo  had  known  all  the  sorrow  that  a  man  could 

344 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

know,  including  the  full  knowledge  of  his  own  fall  who 
had  once  been  a  God — he,  changing  his  song  quickly, 
made  the  people  laugh  till  they  could  laugh  no  more. 
They  went  away  feeling  ready  for  any  trouble  in  reason, 
and  they  gave  Leo  more  peacock  feathers  and  pence  than 
he  could  count.  Knowing  that  pence  led  to  quarrels 
and  that  peacock  feathers  were  hateful  to  the  Girl,  he 
put  them  aside  and  went  away  to  look  for  his  brothers, 
to  remind  them  that  they  too  were  Gods. 

He  found  the  Bull  goring  the  undergrowth  in  a  ditch, 
for  the  Scorpion  had  stung  him,  and  he  was  dying,  not 
slowly,  as  the  Girl  had  died,  but  quickly. 

'I  know  all,'  the  Bull  groaned,  as  Leo  came  up.  'I 
had  forgotten  too,  but  I  remember  now.  Go  and  look 
at  the  fields  I  ploughed.  The  furrows  are  straight.  I 
forgot  that  I  was  a  God,  but  I  drew  the  plough  perfectly 
straight,  for  all  that.     And  you,  brother? ' 

'I  am  not  at  the  end  of  the  ploughing,'  said  Leo. 
*Does  Death  hurt?' 

*No,  but  dying  does,'  said  the  Bull,  and  he  died.  The 
cultivator  who  then  owned  him  was  much  annoyed,  for 
there  was  a  field  still  unploughed. 

It  was  after  this  that  Leo  made  the  Song  of  the  Bull 
who  had  been  a  God  and  forgotten  the  fact,  and  he  sang 
it  in  such  a  manner  that  half  the  young  men  in  the 
world  conceived  that  they  too  might  be  Gods  without 
I  knowing  it.  A  half  of  that  half  grew  impossibly  con- 
f  ceited  and  died  early.  A  half  of  the  remainder  strove 
to  be  Gods  and  failed,  but  the  other  half  accomplished 
four  times  more  work  than  they  would  have  done  under 
any  other  delusion. 

Later,  years  later,  always  wandering  up  and  down 
and  making  the  children  of  men  laugh,  he  found  the 

345 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Twins  sitting  on  the  bank  of  a  stream  waiting  for  the 
Fishes  to  come  and  carry  them  away.  They  were  not 
in  the  least  afraid,  and  they  told  Leo  that  the  woman  of 
the  House  had  a  real  baby  of  her  own,  and  that  when 
that  baby  grew  old  enough  to  be  mischievous  he  would 
fmd  a  well-educated  cat  waiting  to  have  its  tail  pulled. 
Then  the  Fishes  came  for  them,  but  all  that  the  people 
saw  was  two  children  drowned  in  a  brook;  and  though 
their  foster-mother  was  very  sorry,  she  hugged  her  own 
real  baby  to  her  breast  and  was  grateful  that  it  was  only 
the  foundlings. 

Then  Leo  made  the  Song  of  the  Twins,  who  had  for- 
gotten that  they  were  Gods  and  had  played  in  the  dust 
to  amuse  a  foster-mother.  That  song  was  sung  far  and 
wide  among  the  women.  It  caused  them  to  laugh  and 
cry  and  hug  their  babies  closer  to  their  hearts  all  in  one 
breath;  and  some  of  the  women  who  remembered  the 
Girl  said :  '  Surely  that  is  the  voice  of  Virgo.  Only  she 
could  know  so  much  about  ourselves.' 

After  those  three  songs  were  made,  Leo  sang  them 
over  and  over  again  till  he  was  in  danger  of  looking  upon 
them  as  so  many  mere  words,  and  the  people  who  listened 
grew  tired,  and  there  came  back  to  Leo  the  old  tempta- 
tion to  stop  singing  once  and  for  all.  But  he  remem- 
bered the  Girl's  dying  words  and  persisted. 

One  of  his  listeners  interrupted  him  as  he  was  singing. 
'Leo,'  said  he,  'I  have  heard  you  telling  us  not  to  be 
afraid  for  the  past  forty  years.  Can  you  not  sing  some- 
thing new  now? ' 

*No,'  said  Leo,  *it  is  the  only  song  that  I  am  allowed 
to  sing.  You  must  not  be  afraid  of  the  Houses,  even 
when  they  kill  you.'  The  man  turned  to  go,  wearily, 
but  there  came  a  whistling  through  the  air,  and  the  ar- 

346 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

row  of  the  Archer  was  seen  skimming  low  above  the 
earth,  pointing  to  the  man's  heart.  He  drew  himself 
up,  and  stood  still  waiting  till  the  arrow  struck  home. 

'I  die,'  he  said  quietly.  'It  is  well  for  me,  Leo,  that 
you  sang  for  forty  years.' 

'Are  you  afraid?'  said  Leo,  bending  over  him. 

'I  am  a  man,  not  a  God,'  said  the  man.  'I  should 
have  run  away  but  for  your  songs.  My  work  is  done,  and 
I  die  without  making  a  show  of  my  fear.' 

'  I  am  very  well  paid,'  said  Leo  to  himself.  '  Now  that 
I  see  what  my  songs  are  doing,  I  will  sing  better  ones.' 

He  went  down  the  road,  collected  his  little  knot  of  lis- 
teners, and  began  the  Song  of  the  Girl.  In  the  middle 
of  his  singing  he  felt  the  cold  touch  of  the  Crab's  claw 
on  the  apple  of  his  throat.  He  lifted  his  hand,  choked, 
and  stopped  for  an  instant. 

*  Sing  on,  Leo,'  said  the  crowd.  '  The  old  song  runs  as 
well  as  ever  it  did.' 

Leo  went  on  steadily  till  the  end  with  the  cold  fear  at  his 
heart.  When  his  song  was  ended,  he  felt  the  grip  on  his 
throat  tighten.  He  was  old,  he  had  lost  the  Girl,  he  knew 
that  he  was  losing  more  than  half  his  power  to  sing,  he 
could  scarcely  walk  to  the  diminishing  crowds  that  waited 
for  him,  and  could  not  see  their  faces  when  they  stood 
about  him.     None  the  less,  he  cried  angrily  to  the  Crab : 

'  Why  have  you  come  for  me  now? ' 

'  You  were  born  under  my  care.  How  can  I  help  com- 
ing for  you? '  said  the  Crab  wearily.  Every  human  be- 
ing whom  the  Crab  killed  had  asked  that  same  question. 

'But  I  was  just  beginning  to  know  what  my  songs 
were  doing,'  said  Leo. 

'Perhaps  that  is  why,'  said  the  Crab,  and  the  grip 
tightened. 

347 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

'You  said  you  would  not  come  till  I  had  taken  the 
world  by  the  shoulders,'  gasped  Leo,  falling  back. 

'  I  always  keep  my  word.  You  have  done  that  three 
times  with  three  songs.     What  more  do  you  desire? ' 

'Let  me  live  to  see  the  world  know  it,'  pleaded  Leo. 
'  Let  me  be  sure  that  my  songs — ' 

'  Make  men  brave? '  said  the  Crab.  '  Even  then  there 
would  be  one  man  who  was  afraid.  The  Girl  was  braver 
than  you  are.     Come.' 

Leo  was  standing  close  to  the  restless,  insatiable  mouth. 

'I  forgot,'  said  he  simply.  'The  Girl  was  braver. 
But  I  am  a  God  too,  and  I  am  not  afraid.' 

'  What  is  that  to  me? '  said  the  Crab. 

Then  Leo's  speech  was  taken  from  him  and  he  lay 
still  and  dumb,  watching  Death  till  he  died. 

Leo  was  the  last  of  the  Children  of  the  Zodiac.  After 
his  death  there  sprang  up  a  breed  of  little  mean  men, 
whimpering  and  flinching  and  howHng  because  the 
Houses  killed  them  and  theirs,  who  wished  to  live  for 
ever  without  any  pain.  They  did  not  increase  their 
lives,  but  they  increased  their  own  torments  miserably, 
and  there  were  no  Children  of  the  Zodiac  to  guide  them; 
and  the  greater  part  of  Leo's  songs  were  lost. 

Only  he  had  carved  on  the  Girl's  tombstone  the  last 
verse  of  the  Song  of  the  Girl,  which  stands  at  the  head  o{ 
this  story. 

One  of  the  children  of  men,  coming  thousands  of  years 
later,  rubbed  away  the  lichen,  read  the  lines,  and  applied 
them  to  a  trouble  other  than  the  one  Leo  meant.  Being 
a  man,  men  believed  that  he  had  made  the  verses  him- 
self; but  they  belong  to  Leo,  the  Child  of  the  Zodiac, 
and  teach,  as  he  taught,  that  whatever  comes  or  does 
not  come  we  men  must  not  be  afraid.  .    n  '•  -:-.  ; 

348 


ENVOy 

HEH!     Walk  her  round.     Heave,  ah   heave   her 
short  again ! 
Over,  snatch  her  over,  there,  and  hold  her  on 
the  pawl. 
Loose  all  sail,  and  brace  your  yards  aback  and  full — 
Ready  jib  to  pay  her  off  and  heave  short  all ! 

Well,  ah  fare  you  well !    We  can  stay  no  more  with 
you,  my  love — 
Down,  set  down  your  liquor  and  your  girl  from 
off  your  knee; 

For  the  wind  has  come  to  say : 
'You  must  take  me  while  you  may, 
If  you'd  go  to  Mother  Carey  where  she  feeds  her 
chicks  at  sea ! ' 

Heh !    Walk  her  round.     Break,  ah  break  it  out  o'  that ! 
Break  our  starboard  bower  out,  apeak,  awash,  aclear ! 
Port — port  she  casts,  with  the  harbour-mud  beneath  her 
foot, 
And  that's  the  last  o'  bottom  we  shall  see  this  year! 

349 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

Well,  ah  fare  you  well,  for  we've  got  to  take  her  out 
again — 
Take  her  out  in  ballast,  riding  light  and  cargo- 
free. 

And  it's  time  to  clear  and  quit 
When  the  hawser  grips  the  bitt, 
So  we'll  pay  you  with  the  foresheet  and  a  promise 
from  the  sea ! 

Heh !     Tally  on.     Aft  and  walk  away  with  her ! 

Handsome  to  the  cathead,  now;  0  tally  on  the  fall! 
Stop,  seize  and  fish,  and  easy  on  the  davit-guy. 

Up,  well  up  the  fluke  of  her,  and  inboard  haul! 

Well,  ah  fare  you  well,  for  the  Channel  wind's  took 
hold  of  us. 
Choking  down  our  voices  as  we  snatch  the  gas- 
kets free. 

And  it's  blowing  up  for  night, 
And  she's  dropping  Light  on  Light, 
And  she's  snorting  and  she's  snatching  for  a 
breath  of  open  sea. 

Wheel,  full  and  by;  but  she'll  smell  her  road  alone  to- 
night. 

Sick  she  is  and  harbour-sick — 0  sick  to  clear  the  land ! 
Roll  down  to  Brest  with  the  old  Red  Ensign  over  us — 

Carry  on  and  thrash  her  out  with  all  she'll  stand ! 

Well,  ah  fare  you  well,  and  it's  Ushant  gives  the 
door  to  us. 
Whirling  like  a  windmill  on  the  dirty  scud  to  lee : 
Till  the  last,  last  flicker  goes 
350 


ENVOY 

From  the  tumbling  water-rows, 
And  we're  off  to  Mother  Carey 

(Walk  her  down  to  Mother  Carey !) 
Oh,  we're  bound  for  Mother  Carey  where  she 

feeds  her  chicks  at  sea! 


THE    END 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17  •  Box  951388 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library  from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


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